


A Blacksmith's Guide to Happiness

by Practicado



Category: Harvest Moon, Harvest Moon: Friends of Mineral Town, Story of Seasons: Friends of Mineral Town (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Humor, But the main character thinks it's okay bc she's naive, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friendzone, Healing, Jealousy, Love, Love Triangles, Really don't know where I'm going with all of these tags lmao, Religion, Romantic Friendship, Sarcasm, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Trying to make these relationships as realistic as possible LOL, Virginity, but everyone else knows better smh, dry humour, like a lot of it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:55:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 232,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23325868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Practicado/pseuds/Practicado
Summary: Rough city boy meets innocent farm girl. Disagreements, conflicts, and trials that threaten to come between them ensue.Gray is a cynical blacksmith apprentice who's been around the block a couple of times. Claire is a naïve farmer who doesn't even know where that block might be located. Both have suffered from a pain-filled past, yet they learn to heal with the help of each other. Despite their continuous fighting and inability to see eye to eye, something beautiful still manages to blossom between them. That is, until a certain doctor enters the picture. Slow-burn romance containing explicit language, sexual content, serious character development, and an overuse of sarcasm. Takes place in the aughts: Mineral Town, 2004 :)
Relationships: Claire the Farmer/Doctor Trent | Torre (Harvest Moon), Claire the Farmer/Gray (Harvest Moon)
Comments: 295
Kudos: 174





	1. The New Girl

**Author's Note:**

> **Okay I'd like to preface this by saying that I wrote this story a LONG time ago and had it posted under a different account (which one? I'll never say huehuehue). But I went back to look at it and boy was it embarrassing like sorry to whoever read it haha. I decided to rewrite it and give it a whole new look. (Plus I was just very inspired by the Story of Seasons: Friends of Mineral Town remake that is coming out wooo)**   
>  **Also, apparently in Harvest Moon 64 Gray and Ann are related? And Popuri is his rival? Like? Please note that they are NOT related in this story, this is the More Friends of Mineral Town universe lmao :)))**   
>  **I want to let any readers know that the characters in my story are not copy-and-pastes from the game. They will swear and do adult things that would never happen in the Harvest Moon universe. Since they're all pretty neutral and don't get a whole lot of character building to them in the game, there will be some alterations to them. I'm broadening some of their personality traits beyond what they were actually like in the games to give my story originality. This is not because I hate their personalities or game design or what have you. This is simply to propel my story forward. I personally do not mind when characters seem "out of character," in a fanfiction, so long as there is a purpose behind why this is the case, which is what I'll strive to accomplish. PLEASE don't be angry or offended if a character that you like seems inherently different. Everything that occurs will have its own reasoning! Thank you, and sorry for the disclaimer.**   
>  **Alrighty, I'm done so please enjoy xx I don't know how many people, if any, are going to read this but thank you for taking the time to click on my story. It really means a lot to me! Comments are truly appreciated, whether it is a question, helpful feedback, a reaction or whatnot! Thanks :)**

* * *

He wasn’t always this incredibly quiet.

Moving from the city to a sleepy town didn’t exactly help him to come out of his shell, either. Working with his grandfather and not having his voice heard also made for a recipe of silence. Although his best friend, Kai, insisted on moving away with him after Gray left Chicago for good, he still hadn’t regained his voice back. He got quiet often, and stayed quiet often.

Even in moments like this.

“F-faster, Gray!” the red-head under him shrieks.

He stops his thrusting for a moment, just to look down at her, carefully taking this image in. Her signature braid has come completely loose, hair surrounding her head like a sea of deep orange. She is biting her lip, staring up at him with dark eyes, completely naked. Her tanned thighs are wound and wrapped firmly around his strong waist, squeezing him tight as ever. He’s inside of her, cautiously trying to pace himself against her wetness. He recalls this sort of image like déjà vu; it’s something that he’s experienced time and time again before.

He used to find himself in this scenario after almost every hookup back in the city. Now, this routine had become the norm for these two. He likes to consider it as a helpful way to, er, de-stress.

But how much longer can it realistically go on?

She stares up at him, exasperated. “I said faster, not to stop!” Ann exclaims in disbelief. He snaps back into focus, glancing down at her bare, small chest.

“Yeah, sorry,” Gray mumbles, in a tone which tells her that he isn’t sorry at all. It’s the first thing that he’s said throughout the whole act. He leans back, cradling her boney hips in his calloused hands, and thrusts into her faster. The muscles between her legs contract.

“Shit, Gray!” Ann groans. “I- I’m coming! Please, don’t stop.”

He rams into her further and further, his entire erection pushing faster against her folds. He shuts his eyes for a moment, taking in how fucking good it feels. Ann must feel the same, because he peeks one eye open to watch as her back curves against the mattress desperately. She tightens up against him, until finally loosening and reaching her climax loudly. Gray’s mouth folds over hers urgently, in an attempt to quiet her from moaning his name. Their lips are caught roughly between one another, his chapped, hers smooth. Watching and feeling her wave of pleasure is enough to drive him over the edge; he pulls out quickly, panting as he releases.

They take a much-needed moment to recuperate. Ann props herself onto her elbows leisurely, frowning at the sight of him. “You know you’re wearing a condom, right?”

Gray has seated himself on the edge of her bed, panting slowly. He lifts his light blue eyes up to meet hers, and scoffs. “Almost forgot I was. These ‘bareskin’ brands sure don’t fuck around. I could barely tell it was even on.”

Ann rolls her eyes at him, reaching for her crumpled up boyshorts. They're cream-coloured, with pink hearts dotting along the perimeter of them. She slips them on, but Gray catches a glance at her ass before the garment covers them. “You’re completely silent 90% of the time, and the other 10% is just you being a sarcastic asshole,” she says, grabbing her yellow, smocked tank top. It goes over her head, smoothed against her stomach, as she then quickly shimmies her way into a pair of corduroy overalls. Gray asked her once why he never saw her putting a bra on when they hastily dressed. Not that it was any of his business, and not that he minded even; _less articles of clothing means less time spent taking them off._ She merely explained that it was because her breasts were so small that she just didn't bother with them. An extreme contrast to the other girls that he had slept with prior.

“I’m just saying,” Ann continues. “You don’t need to pull out if you’re wearing a condom. You do it so quickly, that if I blinked, I’d freakin' miss it!” She rubs her forearm, looking to him for a response. _Thanks for the Sex Ed 101, Ann._

Surprisingly, though, Gray just chuckles. Judging by Ann’s dubious look, he wonders if most people get surprised when he lets his walls down to show even the slightest bit of emotion. “Not ready to be a dad, if that’s alright with you,” he retorts gruffly, wrapping the condom up. He throws it out before hiking on his black boxers and sweatpants. Thank Christ he changed out of his uniform work-jumpsuit prior; that shit is _not_ comfortable.

Ann just picks up his hat that has been thrown against her headboard, and hands it to him. Gray snatches it quickly, placing it on top of his head, wondering if it will disguise his mussed-up auburn hair. He hopes that the red across his cheeks has calmed itself down, now that he's caught his breath. In case it hasn’t, he pulls the cap over a majority of his face.

“You’re paranoid, Gray,” Ann says, combing through her hair to re-do her dismantled braid. Gray watches her quick fingers, like a kid mesmerized by a magician completing a card trick. This “friends with benefit” thing that they have going isn’t brand new, but watching her fingers never gets old. She always has quick hands. _Very_ quick hands. “How long have you been like this?”

Gray gives her the side eye, making his way to her door. “You know, as much as I love twenty questions, Ann, ‘cause you know I do, I’m just not in the mood for a round tonight.” He smirks, about to turn the handle, but stops as he feels something hit his back. Turning, he stares at the crumpled-up shirt lying at his feet. Gray picks it up embarrassingly, removing his hat to slip it on.

“Wouldn’t wanna forget that, huh?” she says, winking. He shrugs it on, trying to change the subject from his own stupidity.

“It was really good today,” Gray tells her. She cocks an eyebrow.

“Couldn’t tell since you _barely_ make any noise.” Ann's expression shifts. “How much longer do you think that we can keep doing this for?” she asks softly. He wonders if this is a rhetorical question. Although it hasn't been terribly long, Gray knows that the two of them will be better off if they just stay as plain-old friends.

He doesn’t exactly _love_ this arrangement, but he sure as hell wasn’t initially opposed to it either. What else is there to do in a small, sleepy town? Hang out with his grandfather? Go to church? Gray scoffs inwardly. Moving from the city to the middle of nowhere last year wasn’t a fun switch whatsoever, but meeting Ann had been sort of good. When they got drunk at her father’s inn one night, he almost didn’t believe her when she shrewdly told him that she temporarily wanted something with no strings attached. He never had this before: a go-to friend to strictly hookup with, but he really missed sex. Like, a lot.

Kai, a self-proclaimed expert in casual sex, told him to give it a go. Gray is always careful, and while he and Ann lack intimacy and closeness, they make up for in hardcore sex. Not to toot his own horn, but he'd like to think that he's pretty good in bed. Watching a girl get-off because of him, with her head thrown back and a moan falling out of her lips, is enough to get _him_ off. 

“Sorry. Promise I enjoyed it, in case you couldn’t tell.” He ignores her question, nodding at the garbage, where his discarded condom is tucked away under previous trash. Maybe he _is_ paranoid, but he’d rather not have the inn’s owner, and Ann’s father, Doug, find anything that he wouldn’t want to find. He’d surely murder Gray if he knew that he was using his daughter’s room to purely fuck her in it.

“You’re always so respectful when we do this,” Ann continues. Gray blinks at her. _What’s she going on about?_ “Any girl would be lucky to have you... I just want us both to be happy.”

“Thought I was an asshole,” Gray retorts.

Ann laughs. “You know, on second thought: I take it back. You _are_ an asshole, and no girl wants her boyfriend to be an asshole.”

The corner of his lip curves ever so slightly. “You deserve a nice guy like Cliff, Ann,” says Gray. She blushes profusely at the mention of the traveller’s name. “Someone who will love you, and still fuck you upside the bed.” The tips of her pointy ears have now turned red as well.

Ann saunters over to him, pinching his cheek. He just frowns. “You got a way with words, huh, Gray?”

This would be the point where he’d kiss his partner goodbye, but the two of them are keeping it strictly business, with not a stitch of romance. While he’d never admit it, a small sliver of him might be missing that portion too. Gray turns the doorknob to exit silently and abruptly. Even though his grandfather's rules of not being out too late are generally disregarded by Gray, he decides to make his way home anyway.

Ann rubs her tailbone, wincing, noting at how rough Gray was today. It felt good; he _always_ makes her feel good, but she wonders why he's getting rougher and rougher with each hookup. She's also well-aware that tonight was probably their last time together like this _._ She's been longing for a boyfriend, for actual companionship, and not just sex. She really thought that she knew what she wanted before, but Ann contemplates that she was probably just increasingly horny at that time. Besides, Gray is _not_ boyfriend material, at least not for her. He's a good friend, despite his miserableness, and even better for casual sex, but she knows that all good things must come to an end.

 _Maybe he can switch to doing this with that new farmer,_ Ann muses to herself, tying a white ribbon into her hair.

* * *

Gray doesn’t even hear the first knock. He finds himself lost in a dream where her voice still calls out to him.

More like a nightmare.

“Gray!” Saibara yells from the other room. Now, he’s awake. Gray jolts up, rubbing at his bleary eyes, waiting for his vision to clear. His palm drags over his face, and he winces when it accidentally catches on his still-healing eyebrow piercing. _Ouch._

“Get the door!” his grandfather commands. “I’m busy.”

 _Busy doing jack shit,_ Gray grumbles to himself, trying to clear up his foggy mind. What’d he even do last night?

 _Oh yeah._ He stares at his pile of dirty laundry. _Ann._ Gray isn’t even mad that last night was probably their last time together. Sex is fun, but it doesn’t help fill that painful, constant feeling of loneliness that he spends his time denying.

Gray reaches for a pair of pants strewn about the floor, slowly getting dressed. He's exhausted, and cannot even comprehend what time it is. He stares up at his _Red Hot Chili Peppers_ poster that Kai had gifted him in their sophomore year of high school. It hangs on the wall to his bedroom, next to a poster of some _Sports Illustrated_ models hugging. Their tops are bare while being clad in only cheeky, black bikini bottoms.

The knocking continues, persisting against their wooden front door.

“Grayson, I _said_ -"

He can’t find his shirt, or any t-shirt for that matter. “Gramps, I’m looking for my shirt-"

“What're you, self-conscious?”

Gray sighs. Sometimes, he wishes he could knock the old man out. He really does. “No, Gramps, fuck. I’m not self-conscious. I’m-"

“THEN GET THE DOOR!” Saibara's voice is stern and loud. For an old guy pushing eighty, he can still find the strength in him… to scream. Gray shakes his head. His grandfather really likes to push his goddamn buttons when he first wakes up in the morning, doesn’t he? Lumbering out of his room, Gray passes the wrought-iron anvil on his work-station, making his way to open the front door. He sleepily checks the clock that sits atop the stove from across the room. It reads 8:30 AM. Yawning, he then glances at the calendar on their fridge to read the date: _it's the_ _fifth day of spring._

And it’s a Thursday.

_It’s a Thursday?_

Now, Gray's mad. He swings open the door, ready to give the still-knocking person on the opposite side a piece of his mind.

“You know, Mineral Blacksmith is closed today, right?” snaps Gray. He stops himself from cursing when he sees the person on the other end.

She’s tiny; this he notes immediately. Short, in a scrawny kind of way. The girl in front of him has long, straight blonde hair, tumbling down her not-quite cropped, white t-shirt. Her top has a singular butterfly on it: a monarch. She wears blue faded jeans with deliberate rips on each knee, a band-aid exposed on the right one, and a pair of white Converse. She looks up at him, choppy pieces of her bangs falling into her wide, sapphire eyes.

“You know, the sign on your door says ‘OPEN ALWAYS’ right?” the girl retorts back, scrunching her cute, freckled nose up at him. She's downright pretty, beautiful even. But, judging by her tone, Gray can already tell what a pain in the ass she is. Not that his tone was any better; but he likes to think that he has a knack for knowing that kind of shit.

Gray quickly does a double-take on the side of his door, searching for the store’s hours. Sure enough, the girl is right; it says so on a scrap of paper that’s been taped messily to the window. He scowls and rips it off, cursing his stupid grandfather’s chicken-scratch writing.

“Do you always answer the door shirtless?” the girl asks, giggling. He can tell that she's merely trying to break the ice, but he isn't in the mood right now, so he just scowls at her too. Her face wilts.

“Last I checked, Blondie, this was _my_ house, so-"

“Your house?” Saibara walks up behind him, grabbing the paper from his grandson’s hands. He wacks his hand to Gray’s bare chest. “Last I checked, this was _my_ house, son.”

Leave it to his grandfather to be a self-righteous asshole. Guess Gray must have got it from somewhere.

“You must be the new farmer,” Saibara says to the girl, reaching over his grandson to shake her hand. She smiles, her glossed lips shining in the sun. _Farmer?_ _This girl looks like she just stepped off the set of Beverly Hills 90210... not that I watch that shit._

“Yeah," she tells him brightly, shaking his hand enthusiastically. "I’m Claire.”

“Saibara, it's a pleasure to meet you. This here's my cheerful grandson, Gray.” Saibara points to Gray, but he just stares stupidly.

“Hi,” he mutters, shifting his eyes. He can feel his face growing red. What he wouldn’t give to have his hat covering his cheeks right now.

“Hi,” Claire replies, curtly. She offers him a small smile, but he doesn’t return it. She just rolls her eyes at him.

“Come inside, please,” says Saibara, guiding her into the house. He turns to his grandson, scratching his long, white beard. “Put some clothes on.”

Gray just scowls harder.


	2. The Hammer

“So you needed… what was that again?” Saibara seems lost in focus. He gives Claire a purple mug, his hands shaking. Old age hasn't been doing him any good as of lately, what with the tremors and forgetfulness and increasing... _increasing_ irateness. Claire quickly takes the cup from his hands, thanking him.

Gray sits across from her, staring at her with half-lidded eyes as he drinks his triple-triple coffee. In that moment, he inwardly proclaims his love for coffee. What would he do without his coffee? Coffee is _always_ there for him, and will forever be there for him. Coffee doesn't just up and leave; it always just performs its function and does what it's supposed to do. _Coffee, sex, and rock n’ roll._ That's how the saying goes, right?

Claire takes a sip from her mug before answering. “A watering can, that um... thing the grim reaper carries, I forget what it's called, a hoe, and.... a hammer.”

 _"That thing the grim reaper carries." Has this chick ever even stepped foot on a_ _fucking farm?_ Gray makes a face at her after he's done drinking. “What the hell do you need a hammer for?” he asks rudely, as his grandfather shoots him a look. Why he's being such an asshole, he can't say for certain. The girl is hot; hot like that blonde chick in the second Austin Powers movie from a couple of years ago. Any chance of having her be interested in him is gonna be squashed by his trash attitude. Not that he wants her interested, of course, and not that he likes this chick. He doesn't like anybody; _especially_ not new people. _I can literally count on one hand the number of individuals that I actually tolerate._

“I'm gonna apologize on his behalf,” Saibara murmurs, swatting his grandson with his cane. Gray scoffs at Claire’s amused expression. “He's very antisocial.”

“I’m not,” says Gray, even though this is a blatant lie. He walks over to the coffee machine to make another cup; unsure if he wants one or fucking needs/requires one after this much forced conversation in the morning. “Just wanna know why Blondie over here needs a friggin’ hammer.” _And why she needs it at 8 A.M._ He scratches his stubble, yawning at her, but she just makes another face at him in response.

“I need one for my farm.” Claire's tone is very matter-of-fact, until she adds a _"duh"_ at the end of her sentence, and Gray realizes the kind of maturity level that he's dealing with here. She takes another sip from her mug slowly, making him wonder what the hell’s in her drink.

“It’s definitely gonna be a waste of my time making one for you, that’s all.”

Claire blinks, turning to his grandfather. “Is he always this charming?” she asks sarcastically. Saibara sighs, rubbing at his wrinkled temples, shooting his grandson another dirty look.

“Only when I’m around little blonde girls who inconvenience me on my day off,” Gray mumbles. Claire squints up at him from her seat, chewing the inside of her cheek. When she crosses her arms over her chest, Gray can’t help but notice her large bust. _Yeah,_ definitely looks like the chick from Austin Powers. _Wasn't she also in Boogie Nights? She was, wasn't she? She was... a pornstar there. With a really hot nude scene-_

Wait, why the hell is this crossing his mind right now? He shifts his eyes away quickly.

“Day off?” his grandfather snaps. He shoots up from his seat, and knocks Gray on the head, wincing at his arthritic hand. Why he feels the need to get physical when he's frustrated, no one knows. He's told his grandfather more than once that he's only hurting himself by doing that kind of dumb shit. Gray boxes like his cousin, Flora, in Forget-Me-Not-Valley, so it isn’t like any of Saibara’s blows do the slightest bit of damage. “You’re an apprentice blacksmith, you shouldn’t even get days off.”

His grandfather reaches for that crumpled up sign from prior, smoothing it out on the countertop with his still-trembling hands. “And that's why I've changed the store hours.” This last part sounds triumphant, as though Saibara is proud of the troublesomeness he's caused by doing this. “You come anytime you want, Claire.”

“You’re so sweet,” she tells the old man, grinning at him. “Thank you for the tea.” Gray grabs her mug from the table all pissed-off, shoving it in the dishwasher with force. He's beyond annoyed.

“It was nice meeting you,” Claire says, rising from her chair to grab her orange knapsack from the floor.

Gray leans against the fridge, crossing his arms with a smirk. “Welcome to the boonies.” He anticipates another eye roll from her, but she just laughs.

“Take care,” Claire calls. Saibara guides her to the front door, the two exchanging some words before she leaves.

Saibara holds up the sloppy note of her order that he's scribbled down. “Get to work.”

“What’d you tell her?” asks Gray. His grandfather shrugs.

“I just apologized on your behalf again. You really are a mean bastard.”

 _That’s me alright,_ he thinks, reaching for a piece of scrap metal on his work station.

* * *

He finishes her hammer by Saturday, throwing it in a woven bag that Popuri’s mother made for the shop. Gray fetches six-year-old Stu to bring it to Claire.

“It’s… so heavy!” the little boy cries, lifting the bag. Gray crouches down to his level.

“Guess I’ll go and tell your little girlfriend, May, that you _don’t_ have the strongest muscles in town,” says Gray, tousling his hair.

Stu pouts up at him. “You’re always a big meanie, Gray.”

Gray stands up, reaching into his cupboard to retrieve the chocolate bar that Stu requested. Poor kid’s big sister is a health-nut nurse who doesn’t allow the consumption of _any_ sugar whatsoever. The little boy smiles gleefully.

“Not so mean now, am I?” He pauses. “Just don’t let Elli see.”

“I’m sharing this with May!” Stu exclaims. Gray just smirks.

“That’s real nice of you. I’d probably just eat it myself." With his sweet tooth, it's a wonder how he still manages to maintain such a lean physique. Especially since all he does lately is _eat._ Although Gray isn't a morning person by any stretch of the imagination, he works out before his shifts in hopes that this abundance of food will simply fuel his muscles.

Stu sticks his tongue out. “See, you are still sort of a meanie.”

Gray rolls his eyes. “Just go bring that to the new farmer’s house. You know where her ranch is, right?”

Stu nods. “I met her at church this morning. She's super pretty.”

“Alrighty, thanks, Stu.” Gray opens the door for him, the little boy scurrying out. He gets to work on the rest of Claire’s equipment, concentrating on his next paycheck.

The next day, Elli knocks on the door to Mineral Blacksmith; Gray half-expected this to happen. He mutters curse words to himself.

“You got my baby brother to deliver a _hammer?”_ Elli asks, when Gray opens the door.

“Hi, Elli.”

She just scowls at him. _“And,_ you paid him in chocolate?!” Her voice raises up an octave. She's only a couple of years older than Gray, so he figures that she really has no business yelling at him. Plus, it's too early... for _anything_ , much less this much volume in his goddamn ear.

“Guess so,” says Gray.

Elli folds her arms, knitting her thin brow together. She wears her nurse’s outfit with a crisp white apron tied over her, fiddling with the bow-shaped broach that Gray made her for her birthday last year. Elli’s ailing grandmother, Ellen, placed an order over the phone to Saibara, specifically requesting that Gray be the one to craft it. It's a little bit lopsided, he realizes that now, but he's kinda proud of his earlier work.

“I know you’re still hurting, Gray.” Elli’s voice is soft, and comes out of nowhere. He's taken aback by it. “I know that you think more could have been done for her, but-"

“Elli," Gray snaps. "You’re not a doctor, or a therapist, so why the hell are you even talking?” He doesn’t mean to get so nasty, especially since the whole town knows the reason behind why Elli couldn't pursue her schooling further to become a doctor. She's got the brains and the drive for it, but had to become Stu's legal guardian after Ellen's last stroke. Gray really shouldn't be adding further salt to her wounds, but he is.

Elli just sighs. His comment seems unsurprising to her, and although she's pretending to look unbothered, there's no way it didn't sting. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You’re right. You don’t know shit, so don’t pretend like you do.”

“Look, Stu isn’t your delivery boy. _Especially_ not for tools.”

“It was in a bag,” Gray contends. Elli glares.

“I don’t care! _You_ should be the one to give it to the new girl. Quit holding yourself back from living!”

Gray grips the rosewood door, tracing over its braided pattern. Hadn't his father carved that?

“Thanks for the visit, Elli,” he says, slamming it in her face.

Gray spends a good five minutes merely staring at the door, contemplating. “She’s got a point,” Saibara says, his voice cutting through the silence. His grandfather gets up from his chair, polishing the sickle that he's completed for Claire. Grumbling, Gray grabs the hoe that he crafted to give it a final shine.

“Who asked you?” he retorts. Saibara just weakly rises to hand him all of the completed tools. Sometimes, when Gray watches his ailing grandfather get older, a part of him wants to quit being so miserable. To go back to being carefree and happy like he once was.

Was he ever really happy, though? And how's he supposed to just up and do that, with all the bullshit that's been thrown at him in life?

“Bring this to her, now,” Saibara tells him. “Please.”

Gray just rubs his clean-shaven face, tossing all of the tools in a bigger bag before making his way to Claire’s farm.

* * *

“So, just to reiterate, you lied.” Claire feels her eye twitching, and taps her foot impatiently. She glares at the stupid, top-hatted man in front of her.

“Yep,” Thomas says, callously. Her puppy, Maggie, a beagle poodle mutt mix that she rescued before moving here growls at his feet. Even with Claire's small stature, she's still taller than this moronic mayor of Mineral Town.

“This farm was once stupendous,” Thomas continues. He gestures toward the mess that is her ranch. She had arrived Wednesday evening, and while it was not everything she had hoped for, she just wanted to make the best of it all. But, when the mayor visited this afternoon to explain how the shipment-process worked, he had accidentally let it slip out that he intentionally fibbed in the advertisement. “But the owner died, and I mean, how else was I going to sell it without stretching the truth a bit?”

Claire quietly takes out the hammer that little Stu had given her from her rucksack, ready to give Thomas a piece of her mind. She'd really like to hit him with it, but she isn't in some kind of video game or anything like that. Maybe she'll just wack him with the back of the wooden handle to show that she means business.

Yeah, Claire's well aware that she's got to work on her temper. Not today, but eventually.

“Don't!” Thomas cries, cowering and flinching at the sight of her hammer. She just continues to frown at him.

“Can’t say you wouldn't deserve it, bud,” a voice says. Claire turns to see whom it belongs to. Surely it can’t be that jerk blacksmith.

And yet, there he is, at the entrance of her crappy farm, carrying her order of tools over. 

“Oh, you’re another one, Gray!” Thomas cries. Gray says nothing, tossing the bag of tools at Claire’s feet. She glances down at it, then up at him.

Thomas strokes his mustache, as though this action provides him with substantial comfort. “So... you’re mad that I tricked you?”

“Duh!” Claire says, shocked at his stupidity.

“Hit him, Blondie,” Gray says, smirking. After a moment, Claire just smiles slyly at him. “Please, that'd be the kind of entertainment that people'd pay to see.”

“Literally, everyone in this town dislikes you and your shitty attitude, Gray,” Thomas snaps. Gray smirks, drawing a fake tear down his cheek. Claire just stifles a laugh.

“Get lost!” she exclaims at the mayor, dumbfounded. Exasperated, Thomas dusts off his red suit, placing his hands on his rounded hips.

“All I’m saying,” he says, slowly. “Is that I basically did you a favour! A city girl moving into a farm... I mean, it’ll be a good social experiment to see how this all plays out!"

Gray arches his brow, the one without the barbell piercing in it, taking a step closer to her. He reaches into the bag of tools he brought, grabbing the hoe from it. “Need this?” he asks. She grins.

“Maybe,” Claire says, taking it from his hands. She holds its weight, sizing it up. “This one would hurt, wouldn’t it?”

“Think so,” answers Gray. Thomas makes a strangled noise.

“ _Alright_ you psychotic teenagers, I am _leaving!”_ He runs off, his stumpy body embarrassingly slow.

“Kinda scares me that you ordered an axe from my grandfather this morning,” muses Gray, gesturing towards Thomas’ grand exit.

“Sorry you had to see that; I have a really short temper,” she apologizes. The two of them glance around her farm, even though it's barely a functioning farm. There are weeds sprawled out everywhere, boulders blocking most of the planting soil, and wild flowers sprouting all along the fields. Claire inwardly face-palms to herself; maybe she should apologize for Gray seeing this metaphoric state of her life right now. "Promise I wasn't gonna hit him, though." She twirls a lock of her golden hair, feeling a cool spring breeze blow against them. Good thing she's got on a pair of overalls to keep her warm right about now. She drops the hoe, and hugs her flannel covered arms across from her, letting out a sigh.

“That chode had what was coming to him,” says Gray in response.

Claire giggles, sneaking a quick peek at him. He was _so_ miserable three days ago; she swore that the scowl on his face was seriously permanent. But, when he answered the door and she saw him for the first time, she honestly couldn’t help but take in his good-looking...ness. _Is that even a word?_ _But for reals, though;_ _it's like he's chiseled out of stone or something._ She mentally compares him to teen heartthrob Jonathan Taylor Thomas, circa 1999. Claire had even felt a small surge of disappointment when his grandfather told him to put his shirt on. Not like she was going to _do_ anything, but there's never been a guy with visible six-pack abs _that_ close to her before.

Now, he's dressed in a tan-coloured jumpsuit, tufts of his dark copper hair visible from beneath his UMA hat. He looks down at her, his eyes a light, baby blue.

But still piercing and ice cold.

Maggie interrupts her thoughts, sniffing Gray's shoes. He merely crouches down, and extends his hand at the dog. Hesitantly, she lets her guard down, and rolls over on her back, allowing him to rub her belly.

“Good girl,” Grays says. Claire’s heart melts a bit; it’s the first time that he’s looked _genuinely..._ well, she wouldn't say that he's happy, but at least he isn't so pissed off right now. “She’s cute,” he tells her, scratching Maggie’s white and brown patched ears. She kicks her hind leg playfully, wagging her tail at him.

“See,” she says, crouching down with him. “Not _everyone_ hates you.” He just quietly continues petting Maggie, sharing a small smile with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, all that I think of when I think of Gray is Jonathan Taylor Thomas. I had the biggest crush on him growing up LOL


	3. The Lightweight

Claire sits underneath a freshly blooming peach tree, cocking her head to meet Gray’s expression. “So, what do you do for fun around here?” she asks.

Gray is lounging next to her, taking a piece of straw from his mouth to crumple it up in his fingers. This all feels very countryside-esque to him if he's being honest, but he guesses that it's a better option than a cigarette between his teeth. “I told you, this is the Boonies. There is no ‘fun.’” He flicks the piece of hay away. Claire crosses her arms behind her head, leaning against the cool bark of the tree.

“So, you don’t do anything?” she asks, reaching over to lift her dog onto her lap. But Maggie has become very, very attached to him, continuously rolling over on her stomach so that he'll pet her. He's not a people person... by _any_ stretch of the imagination, but dogs? He likes.

“I work. Know what that is?”

She huffs. "Besides that.”

Gray stops for a moment to think. “I watch _Cheers_ re-runs before I go to bed, on my shitty little television.”

Claire smiles. “I like _Frasier_.”

“I mean it,” he tells her, lifting his hat to scratch his head. Her big blue eyes are fixated on the painted, warm colours of the sunset, as if she's mesmerized or something. He's staring at her though, like he's the mesmerized one. Is the view beyond the horizon, or right in front of him?

_Nah, fuck on outta here with that sappy shit._

“There’s really not much to do, so if you came here to have fun, you’re fucked.”

Claire frowns. “I came here to learn how to be independent, not to ‘have fun.’”

He smirks. “Then why’d you ask?”

She rolls her eyes at him. “What _do_ you like, then?”

He arches his brow at her, wincing. He needs to stop moving the goddamn healing one. “I like rock music.”

“I love 80's music,” she says wistfully. “Well, I love all music, like 90's and whatever's on the radio now, but 80's will forever be my fave _._ ”

_Sick - she's one of these nostalgic-for-the-sake-of-being-nostalgic girls. You gotta love those._

“Sometimes I go for a run and practice my boxing,” he continues.

Her eyes widen further. “Could you teach me?”

“To run? It’s hopeless. You’ll never learn such a skill.” There's an unusually playful tone in his voice. What the hell's with him today?

Claire scrunches her nose at him. “I should learn self-defense.”

He shakes his head. “That’s very different from boxing.”

“Could you teach me?”

Gray stays nonchalant but tries to size this girl up. She's honestly such a natural beauty, it’s kind of unbelievable. With her deep eyes, nice smile and pretty blonde hair, she looks like one of those teen stars in the movies. Obviously, she's not just another pretty face to be taken at surface value, though. For example, he's also gathered that she's clearly a pain in the ass and lame as hell.

Thing is, his grandfather or Kai would probably argue that lately, Gray's been matching those exact traits too. Is he really in any position to judge?

“I could. Doesn’t mean I will.” Although he's attempting to joke around, he wonders if his tone still comes across like a real asshole.

"Is that a no?"

"That's a definite no."

She pauses for a moment, and then pushes him lightly. “You’re actually terrible,” she says, coyly. She seems to be treading lightly, before adding: “Mary had a lot to say about you.”

Gray leans back on his elbows, completely unphased. Maggie comes over to him to lick his cheek, so he gives her a scratch behind the ear. “I’ll bet.”

As if she's nervous about what she's got to say next, Claire raises herself up, hugging her knees. Her limbs are tiny, and when she bends her legs to her chest, she looks like she's shrunk in size; all 5 foot nothing of her. “We met yesterday at the library," she says. He waits for the next, inevitable part that's surely coming. "What happened between you two?”

_Ha._

Gray makes a face. Normally, he hates when people get in his business, but he’d prefer to set the record straight right now. “Uh, nothing happened. Me not wanting to date her, or fuck her for that matter, doesn’t make me a bad person.”

Claire’s eyes widen again, the apples of her cheeks growing red.

“I wasn't down to tap that,” he says.

Claire nods like she completely understands, even though his statement's made her very flustered.

_Don't tell me she's never had sex._

_... Well, that would be kind of a given though._

They share a long moment of silence, staring at the orange sky ahead of them. She fiddles with her overalls, tracing tiny patters over the denim material on her knees.

“I've got all this responsibility now, but I used to be _so_ carefree in the city,” she finally tells him. 

“So did I,” Gray says. He reminisces fondly at his own days in Chicago. Claire’s expression looks dubious. “I’m serious,” he continues. “I used to stay out late 'till like, 2 A.M, with class that same morning.”

“I used to leave stuff ‘till the last minute and finish it like, twenty minutes before it was due. I procrastinate so hard.”

“What a rebel,” he says with a chuckle. “I used to go to a Catholic school and skip mass to do God knows what.”

"You're Catholic?"

"No." _Well,_ _Greek Orthodox on one side, barely Irish Catholic on the other._ But if you ask Gray what the difference between any of these streams are, he wouldn't be able to tell you. Kai and him were only enrolled there because it was close by, and there wasn't any prerequisite to demonstrate your religious beliefs. "I'm nothing right now."

“So, you'd just skip church? Wouldn't you get in trouble for that?" Her eyes widen, like this is the most absurd notion in the world. Gray just smirks; he remembers sneaking off with his ex-girlfriend during those periods, when they'd both get the house to themselves.

“I’m a bad boy at heart.”

She shakes her head with a small smile. “Even my first week being here, I still went to mass on Saturday.”

Gray nods. “I know.”

“You know?”

 _Aw, shit. Real smooth._ His cheeks flame. “I mean, I heard.”

_Fuck, that’s no better._

“Oh, you heard, huh?” Claire asks, playfully. He can feel the red creeping on to his entire face now. He brings his hat down, scoffing at her.

“I’m not sure if you’re aware, Blondie, but it’s a _ridiculously_ small town,” he says, in attempt to backtrack on his own stupidity. City Gray would've never embarrassed himself like this.

“Didn’t know that the fellow church-goers were such gossipers,” she muses.

There's a long pause again.

“How come you go to church?” Gray finally asks.

“To have a good time all around.”

 _Is she flirting right now?_ But more importantly, has he met his sarcastic match?

“Yeah, sure.”

Claire is quiet again for a moment, before speaking up. “It's really humbling to go and just focus an hour of your time on thanking whichever God you pray to.”

Gray stares at her for a good minute because he really doesn't get it. Then, he remembers how fucking rude this is.

She groans. “Now you think I’m a crazy-church lover, huh?”

By his standards, he lets down his mean exterior for a brief moment. “Whatever. You're solid,” Gray says, with an assured wave of his hand. Claire gives him a thankful look, before he returns to his rough tone. “But I'm guessing you don’t like to drink?”

She shakes her head. “Not really.”

“And you don't like tattoos?”

“I don’t have one, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she answers, enquiringly. "But, I think they're cool."

“And you don’t like sex, then?”

This question makes her blush. “Um, it’s fine,” Claire says, looking down at her lap.

_Yeah, called it, she's a freakin' virgin._

“I think it's better than 'fine,'” says Gray. Then, quickly, he adds: “Not down to do it with Mary, though.” 

She lets out a flustered giggle, before quickly continuing. “Hey, have you been to the inn? Pastor Carter told me that they have the best food in town.”

"Never been."

"Really? It's near your blacksmith shop, over by the-"

“Yeah, no shit, I’ve been to the inn." Gray rolls his eyes, to which she rolls hers right back. He quickly thinks about Ann’s room at the top floor of the building, before trying to get his mind out of the gutter. “Their food is dope.”

“Okay, well, cool! Let me just put Maggie inside, and we'll go," says Claire, shooting up and tucking her puppy into the crook of her arm. "I haven't eaten all day and I'm starving.”

"Who says I wanna go with you?"

For a second, her eyes go all big and nervous, like her suggestion to him was a horrible mistake.

 _"Relax,"_ he tells her. "I was kiddin'."

"Oh." She lets out a breathless, relieved laugh. "You were just being a jerk again."

"Guess so." _A.K.A, what else is new?_

Claire just secures Maggie as she extends her other hand to Gray.

And even though he doesn’t need help getting up, he takes it anyway. Her skin is soft and smooth against the roughness of his own. Claire smiles warmly at him, and Gray decides to actually try and give a smile back for a change. _You know... for her sake - just so she doesn't freak out again._

* * *

Claire takes a bite of the pasta that Doug has placed in front of her. “This's delicious.”

Doug beams at her. His eyes seem to light up beneath his scruffy brows. “Gotta hand it to my daughter, Ann,” he responds. His face is swelled with pride. “Gray knows it, too.”

He sits across from Claire, busy wolfing down his baked corn. Gray looks up at Doug from his seat, but quickly averts his attention back to his plate, shovelling each bite into his mouth. “She’s great, Doug,” he says before swallowing. As the words escape his lips, he realizes their stupidity and begins to choke on his food.

Doug looks confused. “Huh?”

Gray begins coughing profusely. _Why_ did he say that?! Claire hands him his water quizzically after his fit is done. “I mean... she _cooks_ great,” he mutters, trying to regain his breath. Doug just laughs.

“You’re a funny guy, Gray,” he says.

 _Yeah, a funny guy who had your daughter pinned up against the wall a few days ago._ He would like nothing more than to die in this very moment.

“I’ll go get my Ann so you two can tell her that,” says Doug. “She’d also love to meet you, Claire.”

Claire smiles, swallowing her bite of rigatoni. She dabs at her saucy lips with a napkin. “That would be gr-"

“Maybe later!” Gray interrupts. Doug and Claire are visibly perplexed by his outburst. Since he can't just up and die right on the spot, he feels the need to further explain himself. “If Ann comes by with food still on our plate, she’ll think that we don’t like it,” he reasons convincingly, tone nonchalant.

Doug chortles. “You got a point, my boy,” he says, filling up their water glasses, before darting off into the kitchen with a wink. It's not that Gray minds seeing Ann, but he doesn't want Claire, or Doug, to accidentally find out about their hookups. And given that he's on a roll for saying unintentional dumb shit, that just might happen. 

Claire shoots him a puzzled look. “What was that about?”

He would really like to disappear. What the hell is this anxious, awkward side to him? It's not a good look, that's for sure. _I'm better off when I stay quiet and look unapproachable._ “Nothing,” Gray says, clearing his throat in attempt to get the pieces of corn out of his trachea.

Claire stops for a moment, as though she's lost in thought. Before they sat down to eat, she messily pulled side pieces of her longer bangs, the ones that frame her face, back, with white hair clips on both sides. They reveal her shell-shaped ears, a pair of heart-shaped jewelry studded in the lobe. He can’t help but think that she looks a lot like the pretty main character in that stupid _Legally Blonde_ movie that Popuri made Kai and him watch one night.

Her face instantly brightens. “Oh, I know!” Claire exclaims.

Gray scoffs at her. “You literally know nothing.”

“Believe me, I know.” She winks. “I can read a room.”

“You definitely can't,” he says, hoping that this is not the case. Claire just chews her meal triumphantly.

“Are you dating his daughter?” she guesses. Gray shakes his head.

“Nope.”

“You _dated_ his daughter, then?”

"No.”

Claire frowns. “Then what-"

“Whoa, who’s this pretty young thing?” A familiar voice enters the air. Gray turns to see his best friend, cocky as ever, strolling over to their table. Kai pulls up a chair, grinning at the two of them.

“I’m Kai,” he says, greeting Claire warmly while flashing that signature white smile of his. Kai adjusts the purple bandana over his head quickly, to reveal his moussed curls. He's implemented cropping it short lately in an attempt to better tame it with product. Recently, though, Kai just keeps it tucked under that purple thing his girlfriend made for him. He sticks his hand out once he's done fixing himself up.

“Claire,” she replies, taking his hand tentatively.

“Oy vey, Gray, you shoulda told me you'd be having dinner with a model. I'd have dressed nicer.” Kai leans back in his chair smugly. He isn’t as tall or as muscular as Gray, but he makes up for this with his loud, "infectious" personality. A self-proclaimed ladies’ man since high school.

_Big emphasis on the "self-proclaimed" part._

Nah, Gray's just being a dick - women love Kai. Almost everyone does.

_Can't relate._

“Oh,” Claire mumbles, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Gray instantly notes this as a nervous habit of hers. _As if she’s not used to compliments on the way that she looks._ “Thank you.”

"'Oy vey?' The only time I ever hear that term is when your dad uses it back at the restaurant," Gray says, chuckling. Kai's father is Sephardi Jewish, hailing originally from Spain but who lived in Argentina for a good chunk of his life, and currently owns an Italian eatery back in Chicago. _Try repeating that one five times fast._ In addition to all of this, his mother is from Ethiopia, so Kai has grown up bragging about his ability to swear in a multitude of different languages. His parent's house is like Gray's second home, though; they're good people that made him an honorary member of their family.

"You're gettin' me _verklempt_ when you talk about home like that, Grayson." Kai has one hand on his heart in mock sadness, the other grabbing a fork to eat the last few bites of Gray's baked corn. 

Claire snickers. "You watch the 'Coffee Talk' skits too, huh? They're hilarious." They both stare at her. "From _Saturday Night Live_... right?"

Gray doesn't know why he's so surprised that she watches comedy sketches on NBC, but he is. "Ay, you got it," Kai says with a grin, before non-discreetly pointing at Claire and mouthing, _I like her!_

He glares at Kai and his now-empty plate. “I dunno if I speak for Blondie over here, but your Yiddish, 'nd your presence, is making me nervous. Besides, where’s Pope?”

Ann makes a beeline from the kitchen to the three of them, one hand on her hip, the other holding a beer and Jack Daniels that Kai ordered for the two of them. Her hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail-like braid, and she wears a stained apron around her small waist.

“Jesus, Kai,quit harassing our new guest. I could seriously use your help with orders.” She turns to smile at Claire weakly. “Please don’t mind him. He thinks he's hilarious and that horniness is a personality trait. I'm Ann.”

“My name is Claire,” she responds, giggling. “Your food was wicked.”

"Wicked, huh?" muses Kai. He takes a swig of the beer that Ann has set down, rubbing Gray's shoulder, who in turn, swats his hand away irately. “Where're you from? New England?"

"Massachusetts," she says. "You get it from my dialect, huh?"

"Hard not to tell," Gray says, whiskey hitting his system good. Claire's accent isn't rough like his or Kai's, but still there - different and easy to spot out against the rest of this boring Delawarean town. It's not too thick either, but he hears it lightly on words she says like "daughtah" or "they-yah."

Now that the alcohol's in his blood, it's a little cute if he's being honest.

Kai nods. "Gray's into that." 

He digs his elbow into Kai's side after this _increasingly_ unnecessary remark. "OW! I mean... we both are? Neither are? Don't know... what I'm supposed to say here-”

As grateful as he is to have his only friend, Gray might kill him. He really might.

Claire just blinks, stifling a pained laugh. “Oh, _yikes_."

Ann gives Gray a very pleased look, and gestures toward Claire. _I like her!_ she mouths silently.

He stares at the blonde across from him. Kai is explaining something about his food versus the inn's food to her, and Claire's listening, but she catches him looking at her, and gives him a bright smiles.

 _Me too,_ he finally decides, secretly mouthing this back.

* * *

Apparently, no one gives a damn if the young people of the town are drinking underage, because Kai takes yet another swig from his drink, sloshing it on his pants. "Fiddlesticks," he says, dabbing at the mess. Popuri leans over to whisper something in his ear, causing him to grin. Rick glares at the two of them from across the room, pushing his glasses up his nose while his eyes shoot daggers. _It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that this guy hates_ _Kai being around his little sister,_ Claire thinks, sipping her screwdriver slowly. She can't help but make a face at the bitter flavour. It's more like straight vodka with a splash of orange juice. 

Gray is totally drunk, sitting beside her while stifling a laugh. "F-f-fiddlesticks?" he hiccups. Claire can smell the alcohol from his breath, but enjoys the sight of him without that scowl on his face. _He's such a cutie when he smiles._

Kai shoves him over. "I mean, fuck."

Karen seems unimpressed. "Is every single one of you here a lightweight or somethin'?" she asks, examining her French-manicured nails. Her fourth drink is practically finished, but she seems unphased and relatively sober, considering.

Cliff leans back on his elbows, his ponytail brushing over his left shoulder. Claire has gathered that Karen is acquainted with Cliff because she helped him get a job at the local winery. "You and Duke have a lot in common," he tells her, in comparison to his boss. Ann bursts out giggling next to him as Cliff takes another long drink from his red wine. Claire saw him at church, declining Carter's offer of wine yesterday, so it's difficult to connect him to the person chugging his drink back here tonight.

There are eight of them in total, all sitting in a cross-legged circle on the floor of the inn. Ann asked her father if he could go to bed early so that she could have her friends over. "Anything for you," Doug had said with a sigh, lovingly kissing his daughter on the cheek. Claire felt a pang in her heart when she saw this; it was just a painful reminder of the kind of relationship that she'd never have.

Under Ann's instruction, Gray and Kai had pushed the tables behind the bar, while she called Popuri, Rick, and Karen to come by. Cliff was a resident at the inn, so they merely knocked on his door and invited him down. Everyone was super close with one another, and they all got even _closer_ when the alcohol came out. But they made Claire feel right at home: introducing themselves kindly, acting as though they'd known her forever, and catching her up with everything going on in the town. Claire learns that Karen and Rick are engaged, while Rick's little sister, Popuri, has been attached to Kai at the hip for about a year now. Every time Ann scooches herself closer to Cliff, it makes Claire scrap the internal hypothesis that she conjured up about her and Gray.

"You're nursing that drink," Popuri tells her, after finishing up her third spritzer.

Claire just smiles. "I'd better be careful. It only takes one drink, and I'm totally out of it."

She isn't kidding.

"That's *hic* _completely_ opposite to me!" Ann exclaims, shaking the ice cubes in her empty drink. Cliff smiles at her.

"Definitely not true," he chides, before glancing over at Rick. "Are you alright, Rick?"

"It's a Sunday night, I have work tomorrow, and I'm wasted," he mumbles, adjusting the white headband in his dark blonde hair. A solemn look is painted across his face. "So, _no_ , I am not alright." Karen rolls her eyes at him, too.

"Also…" Kai begins, cradling Popuri's waist and pausing for dramatic effect. She's practically on top of him right now. "Your sister's sitting on my lap."

Rick leans his head against Karen's shoulder. "Yeah, that too," he mutters bitterly, before shutting his eyes tightly.

"Let's play a game!" Karen suggests, shimmying Rick's weight off of her. He makes a groaning noise. "Before you _all_ fall asleep."

Claire is careful to take small sips from her drink, knowing damn well that if she finishes the whole thing, she'll be worse off than poor Rick. It doesn't help that she hardly ate today. Even the miniscule amount that she's allowing herself to have is making her slightly dizzy.

She just really doesn't want the others to think of her as boring, or lame, or even worse: a prude. Maybe that's why she told Gray that sex was "fine" when he asked about it earlier. As if she knows; she's never even had it.

She's not _allowed_ to have it.

"I hate these games," Gray mumbles.

Claire smiles. "I think that you hate everything," she corrects.

He brings the top of nearly-empty wine bottle to his eye, like he's looking through it. "That's a… possibility," Gray says, and then he gives her this tipsy kind of look. _Is this his version of flirting?_

"Oookay," Karen says, chugging back the last of her drink, tucking her dirty blonde hair behind her ears. "Cliff, ready?"

"Not really," answers Cliff, flatly. His eyes look glazed over.

Karen merely continues. "Your task for the game is to… prank call Carter!"

"What? No way! It's, like, past midnight."

Karen pauses, and Claire sees her catch Ann's pleading expression from across the room. "Um, okay, the alternative is to... tell Ann... how you feel?" She says this last bit like a question.

Cliff just stares. " _Why_ didn't you make that the first option?" he asks, exasperated. He quickly turns to Ann. "Ann, uhm… I'm feeling… tired."

Ann just blinks at him. She looks lost.

Claire realizes that she's the only one who isn't even remotely sloshed right now, feeling out of place like she always does. _Does everyone notice? Am I the group loser?_

It's not like they're the type of people to turn on her, but she just really wants to fit in with the crowd.

 _Screw it_ , Claire thinks, and she tips the entire contents of her glass into her mouth. Gray raises his unpierced eyebrow in astonishment at her. The alcohol burns her throat, hitting her bloodstream instantly, room spinning like a carnival ride around her. She looks over to see Kai and Popuri holding out a thumbs-up of approval.

"Can you try a different dare?" Ann murmurs to Karen, loudly. Cliff looks like he's in a daze.

"You're sooo lame, Ann. Hold the phone," Karen whispers back, just as loud. "Okay, Kai. I dare you to show Popuri to your room!" She winks, and Kai jolts up rapidly, like these are the magic words. He snatches Popuri up quickly in his arms, her long, pink hair a cloud of cotton candy around her head.

Popuri frowns over at Karen. "I told you I've seen his room before, Kare."

This seems to awaken Rick out of his drunken trance. "Karen, is this a fucking joke?"

"Rick, I dare you to shut the hell up."

"That's my little sister!" Rick is speechless as he watches Kai comically tip-toeing his way up the stairs.

"She can make her own decisions, hon," she says, flicking his head.

Rick just silently sulks, glaring at Kai from across the room. "You better not fucking touch her, Kai."

"Does anyone have a condom?" Kai asks in joking response. Claire wonders if this another poor attempt at trying to be funny, or if he just wants to direct some disrespect towards Rick. Regardless, Popuri does not look impressed. "What? I'm kidding."

"He's not kidding," says Gray under his breath.

Claire's brain feels foggy; a wave of nausea seeping in to her. She stands up to see if that will help ease her stomach, only to start swaying on the spot.

"Whoa," Gray says, lifting himself to his feet. He steadies her with his hands. _Big, strong, calloused, worker's hands._ "Are… you okay?"

"I bet Gray has a condom."

Everyone turns to see the doors of the inn already opened, as Mary stands in between them, her arms crossed. She stares at Gray as he holds on to Claire, before turning to Ann. Her hair is pulled back in a tight black braid, glasses framing her flashing eyes.

Claire decides that she looked a lot nicer with her nose in a book at the library.

"Kick rocks, Mary," says Gray angrily. Claire feels her vision blurring. She looks up at him with hazy eyes, and wonders why he'd have a condom with him.

Mary walks over to the seated group, gaze still fixed on Ann. Cliff looks uncomfortable sitting next to her.

"Well, I should hope that he carries a condom with him at all times," Mary says, her voice cold and stoic. Gray just shakes his head at her and swears under his breath. "I mean, everyone knows how sporadically he and Ann get it on."

 _Is this true?_ Claire can barely register what she's hearing. _No way._

Cliff seems to sober up with this statement, staring at Ann with a dumbfounded expression on his face. "What?"

"It isn't like that," Ann whispers, shamefaced, looking like she has now woken up, too. Cliff then turns to Gray, who shakes his head in response.

"Everyone knows that you just let Gray have it when you want it," Mary continues. Her tone is harsh and nasty. "How is it _not_ like that?" When Claire had met her, she seemed polite enough. The librarian was so timid, yet sugary sweet around all of the adults in town. _Sure, I thought she was a little fake, but not cruel like this._

"Leave her alone, and get lost," Gray snaps.

"Mary," says Popuri, squinting at her. "Don't take it out on Ann, just 'cause she didn't invite you tonight."

Mary sneers at Ann, who refuses to meet her unrelenting eyes. "My mom was right; you really _are_ like your mother," she spits at her. Ann chokes back a sobbing noise, shooting up with wobbly knees to run up the stairs to her room. She trips over her own two feet on the second step, recovering quickly as Cliff and Popuri frantically follow her.

"Her mother's dead, Mary," Karen says, glaring. She stands her ground in refusal to back down. "Seriously? C'mon. We all grew up together. I know your guys' moms are like, whatever, but you don't always have to be such a bitch to her-"

"She's a bitch right back," retorts Mary, taking a step closer to Karen. She's not as unafraid though; there's a scared look beneath her eyes.

"You should leave," Rick tells her, stepping behind his fiancée to pull her back. Mary smooths out the pleating of her signature teal dress, a scornful look plastered across her face.

"You're just mad that Gray didn't want to dick you down," Kai pipes up, drunkenly chuckling at his own words and falling over from where he's standing. Mary's cheeks flame. To Claire, this is like watching a train-wreck with dizzy eyes. _How much does Gray get, exactly?_

Her stomach continues heaving from the alcohol, like someone is dribbling a basketball very poorly inside of her. She's using Gray to support herself, not realizing that she's gripping onto him for her dear life. It feels like someone is shaking the room, and although she's doing her very best to remain perfectly still, Claire's still teetering.

"Let's get you home," Gray mumbles to her. She looks up at him, undecided if she wants him as her escort right now.

Mary walks over to the two of them. "Is this your next one?" she asks Gray, pointing.

Claire's heart sinks as he grits his teeth. She looks up at Gray, his strong arms still supporting her. Her face becomes twisted with worry, panic setting in as she tries to swallow the lump in her throat that won't go down. _I so do not want that right now._ This thought hasn't even crossed her mind; she isn't ready, isn't even in the right mindset. _Also, I can't!_

Gray holds onto her shoulders tightly as another wave of nausea hits her. Amidst her drunkenness, Claire wonders for a brief moment if he does the same thing to Ann in the bedroom. He catches her stare, and for a very split second, his blue eyes begin to plead with her. That vulnerability is gone in a flash, however, and Gray merely scowls once more. "Leave her alone, Mary."

Mary just stands in front of them, blocking the doorway while waiting for an expectant answer from Claire.

"No," Claire says softly. She tries to free herself from Gray's grasp, much to his confusion, but his grip is so strong on her skin. "I-I'm a virgin." She feels mortified right now, too embarrassed to even look up and read his expression.

Karen walks up behind Mary to yank on her braid. Her mouth hangs open as she angrily claws at Karen, with Rick standing in between the two of them. They go sideways, like spiders crawling up the walls of the room. In the midst of the commotion, Kai walks over to the opposite side of Gray, helping Claire up. Her eyes meet the ceiling, and she doesn't even realize that she's already fallen straight to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> K I ACTUALLY LIKE MARY'S CHARACTER AND I PROMISE THAT THERE'S REASONING FOR THIS; it's all going somewhere lmao plz don't attack my inbox
> 
> The Coffee Talk SNL skits, and that one Barbra Streisand moment... just *chefs kiss*


	4. The Drunken Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemon in this chapter!! You've been warned...

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, that was so bad,” Kai mutters. Claire’s arm is flung around his left shoulder as Gray steadies her up on the opposite side, using his friend to help lift her into his own outstretched arms. He's wasted, and his brain is pounding painfully against the back of his scalp. _Is that even a thing? Is that possible?_ Although he feels like he could just pass out at any given minute, Gray is pretty good at forcing himself to sober up. How else was he able to avoid groundings by convincing his mom that _"_ _no, there wasn't any alcohol at that party, you don't need to worry."_ But he definitely doesn't take after his old man in that regard; what Gray can manage in a couple of seconds is taking his dad more than a year to figure out.

“Gray, please,” Claire mumbles. He holds on to her as he and Kai stand in the middle of the road, just past the entrance to the inn. Bathed in the light of the full moon, Claire’s pale skin looks almost translucent; like some kind of a porcelain doll. 

He knew Claire was lying when he asked her if she liked sex. It didn't take a fucking genius to figure that one out, but if Gray had to give his reasoning behind how he knew, it's just because he _knew._ She looked nervous simply sitting next to him, as if she'd never in her life been that close to someone of the opposite sex before. Why she couldn't just be honest about it all is beyond him.

_Not like you were honest with her either._

To add, Gray can’t comprehend how Mary found out about his hookups with Ann. Do people like Elli, or Thomas, or his own grandfather know about it as well?

Kai goes back inside to find Popuri. As he opens the door, Mary exits, pushing past Gray and scowling in his direction.

“Have fun tonight,” she calls, furiously rushing away.

_You tell the town librarian that you aren't interested in a date, or going back to her place at night, and all hell fucking breaks loose a year later._

“Gray,” Claire whispers again, weakly opening her eyes to meet his own. How anyone could get this drunk off of one drink, he’d never understand. It took about a whole bottle of wine to get him to the state that he's in now. Mind you, Gray is also 6 foot and weighs a lot more than her.

“Ah-huh,” Gray says, holding her as carefully as possible. He knows that this image of him carrying a semi-unconscious girl back to her farmhouse doesn’t look so good, but he just focuses on keeping himself centered. He follows the straight pattern of the path's cement tiles that his father had apparently put in years before.

“I-I know what c-c-comes next.” Her teeth are chattering and the coldness of her skin is permeating through her clothes. 

"Shush,” Gray says with a sigh. He softens his harsh tone. “Don’t worry. I’m taking you home.” Despite his drunken state, they arrive in less than five minutes.

She opens her eyes fully now. They're standing in front of the door to her rustic house as Maggie whimpers from the other side.

“I know in m-movies, that this is the p-p-part of the night where…” His ears turn pink as Claire's voice trails off. He isn’t even _thinking_ about getting laid right now. “B-b-but I *hic* can’t.” Tears well in her eyes. Gray just stares down at her, staggered, pushing the unlocked door open with his broad shoulder.

“Claire, I barely even know you,” he says firmly. Her name feels weird on his tongue. Being in her house when she's semi-passed out in his arms feels weird. Gray focuses his attention to the pink checkered walls, the hardwood oak flooring, and the sweet, sugary scent lingering in the air. The furniture in her home is bare; there's a small television in front of a sofa, an outdated kitchen, a dresser, and then a bed in the right hand corner of the room. Maggie waits on top of it, wagging her tail and whining for her owner. He walks over there slowly, carefully placing Claire down and rubbing his neck sheepishly. The room is spinning.

“Has that stopped you before?” She cranes her neck, lifting her head up to look at him with an unreadable expression. _Does she seriously have a smart-ass comment even in this state?_

But no, it hasn’t stopped him before.

When Gray doesn't answer, Claire begins to cry. “I know that’s p-probably… what you want, but I j-just *hic* can’t.” He stares at her in a panic as she shoddily sits up to sob into her hands.

Gray doesn’t even know what to say, much less do. “Stop. I’m not like that,” he assures her in a panic. “Seriously, cut it out. I don’t want that at all... I wasn’t even _thinking_ that.”

When Maggie licks the back of her hand, she lifts her head up to stare back at him. Her voice is hoarse. “Isn’t that the *hic* kind of guy you are?”

Does he come across as _that_ much of an asshole? He's a total dick to people, sure, but he wouldn't ever even think to take advantage of a girl. He’s better than that. “I brought you home safely, didn’t I?” Gray snaps, even though he doesn’t mean to. He’s just so taken aback. Claire keeps looking at him, and he can’t tell if she’s sizing him up, or making out his figure in the darkness. Maybe a bit of both.

“Can I get you some water?” he asks, trying once again to change his insensitive tone.

When she starts to cry again, Gray feels like the biggest douchebag on the planet. He's not good at comforting _anyone_ , much less this drunk, lightweight chick he barely knows. It’s like a car accident is unfolding before his very eyes, and all he can do is watch in disbelief.

“I know t-that I said sex was *hic* fine, but I d-don’t even get the point of it, Gray,” Claire mumbles. In an attempt to do _something,_ he hastily goes over to her kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards until he finds a cup. Gray fills it up from the sink and goes over to hand it to her, refusing to meet her eyes. She takes a big gulp of the water as some spills on her lap.

“I didn’t want you to think I was *hic* lame,” Claire says, her words slurred and sad. She falls sideways onto her bed, back in a resting position. This might be a bad time to let her know that he already does think that she's... well, kinda lame. “Or stupid, or dumb, or *hic* some prude church girl. I’m a v-virgin, but it’s… it’s ‘cause I have to be one. I really can’t-“

“Claire,” Gray interrupts, not ready to hear a virginal lament. “Please, stop crying. I don't want that from you.” He tries to sound reassuring, but his voice is frantic. _Is it obvious that I don't do well with people crying?_

“What about Mary?”

“Don’t listen to her. Everything she said was a lie,” Gray says, telling a half-truth himself.

There is a long silence. She's so still that he wonders if she's fallen asleep. He turns to tiptoe out of her house, until he hears her wavering voice one last time. “You’re a r-really… nice guy, Gray... Good night.” A sliver of moonlight coats Claire's pretty face, and he can make out a small smile on her lips before he leaves.

* * *

His head is heavy with thoughts as he walks back to Mineral Blacksmith. Gray stumbles over his feet a couple of times, but he's managing alright, managing like he always does. He opens the door with ease, so that it doesn’t make that old creaking sound and wake up his grandfather. He kicks off his shoes, socks treading lightly on the hardwood floor. The clock above the stove reads 1:10 AM.

Gray opens the door to his room, only to find Ann, sitting cross-legged on his bed. She wears an oversized white t-shirt that's completely see-through. The clothes that she was wearing at the inn are scattered on his bedroom floor. His curtains have been drawn shut and the lamp in the corner of his room is dimmed. Gray swallows; once again, he's speechless.

“Is this real?” he manages out.

Ann nods. She reaches for his hand, bringing him closer to her while guiding his hand between her legs. He jerks back.

“I’m drunk,” Gray admits with a shake of his head. “And you’re wasted.”

They've hooked up while intoxicated more times than he can count on both hands, but after hearing all that Claire had to say, this somehow feels wrong. Fucking his fuck buddy feels like the last thing he should be doing right now. He doesn’t want to take advantage of this situation, or Ann, for that matter.

But she kneels on his bed, pulling him into a deep kiss. The material of her top is so thin, that she may as well not be wearing anything at all. He's already losing himself against her soft lips, against her fiery flesh, against the sheer taste of her. And all he wants is to have all of his guilt replaced by pleasure.

“Please, Gray,” Ann murmurs, her face pressed to his. “I really need this right now.”

With slight reluctance, he kisses her back. His feelings of uneasiness are replaced with desire as his hands slide under her shirt to cup her breasts, rolling his thumbs over her hardened nipples. Ann moans into his mouth, impatiently guiding his hand back between her legs once again. This time, Gray allows it to remain there, instinctively moving her silky thong material to the side. She's already soaking wet for him. “Fuck,” he mutters, kissing her harder.

She lifts the shirt over her head, revealing her slender torso and soft breasts. He unbuttons the top of his jumpsuit, shrugging it down before fully stepping out of it, letting her trace over the etched lines on his abdomen. Ann allows his tongue inside her mouth as she writhes against him. She tastes like the sweet wine that she’d been downing all night. Gray breaks their kiss urgently, pressing her back on his bed and bringing his face in between her wet sex. His thumbs hook under the seamless garment of her panties as he pulls them off her long legs.

“Gray,” she sighs over him. He pries open her intimate lips feverishly, kissing her right there. Ann gasps when he brings his tongue to her clit, tracing slow, agonizing circles around it. Even drunk, Gray still knows how to play on her sensitivity and make her feel good; she tenses and quivers in his mouth as he buries his face in her. His fingers slowly enter and pump inside of her as he continuously laps at her pink nub. She shuts her eyes and throws her head back silently. He does this for quite some time, acting purely on instinct, until Ann reaches her climax, crying out.

Almost immediately, she reaches for his boxers, pulling them down desperately. He's almost forgotten about himself. “My cock is throbbing,” Gray mumbles, breaking his silence. Why he picks this moment to finally communicate with his partner during sex is beyond him.

Ann teases the head of his member with her hands, rubbing at him. He bucks his hips, groaning and taking in how good it all is. “You have such a big dick,” she tells him, stroking him faster.

Gray reaches into his nightstand to retrieve a gold-packaged condom. Ann fumbles as she opens it, before rolling it down his erection. He positions himself to sit at a ninety-degree angle with his back against the headboard, watching as Ann climbs over him. Their breath hitches together when she takes the length of his cock inside her slickness.

She begins to ride him, grinding her hips against his in a rhythmic motion. He catches her small breast in his mouth, tongue tracing over her nipples. She juts his chin up with her hand, lifting his face into another rough kiss. Gray groans, pulling the back of her hair. Ann bites at his lip in response, and he just grinds harder. He doesn’t think that he’s ever been this rough with her.

Before Gray knows it, her legs begin to shake. “Come,” he commands, pumping faster. Ann moans his name into his ear and does as he says, falling backward onto his bed, her orgasm almost immediate. He flips her trembling body over, pushing her down to prod her wet entrance from behind. She supports herself on her knees as her face presses into his comforter, gasping when he begins thrusting into her sloppily. His strokes fall out of unison, but he just focuses on the pleasure principle of it all. He messily snakes his hands from behind to grab at her breasts, kissing her neck. Ann just moans again as Gray reaches his release, a noise escaping his throat.

She turns over, laying on her back and panting; her lungs expanding and pushing against her bare ribcage. Gray sits on the edge of his bed, trying to catch his breath. This finishing-stance is nothing new; it's completely familiar, but his wave of pleasure is gone; he feels nothing but guilt. He doesn’t meet her eyes as he stands, leaving to clean himself up, putting on a new pair of boxers. He returns to find Ann under his covers. She motions for him to climb in beside her, which he uneasily does.

She gathers her red hair in her hands to form a mussed-up bun, resting her head slowly on his chest. Gray stays silent. What is he doing? He doesn’t love this girl. And he's positive that she doesn’t love him. He loves the sex, and he loves her as a person, just not like that.

“I’m sorry,” Ann says softly, her voice cutting through the utter silence. “This is truly the last time. I just…” A tear lands on his pectoral, and Gray wipes at her eyes. He kisses the top of her head, and does what he does best; stays quiet.

Claire is wrong; dead wrong. He isn’t a nice guy at all. Not even in the slightest.


	5. The Morning After

She hasn't ever experienced a hangover before, so naturally, Claire assumes that she's dying when she awakens the next morning. It's like Thomas is the one hovering a hammer over _her_ head. Maggie barks as her eyes weakly open, licking her cheek and tickling her face with her soft fur. She stuffs her face in her pillows with a groan, mindlessly reaching for the blinds to block the sunshine out. Her elbow knocks over a cup on her nightstand, its contents sloshing out onto the floor.

Claire frowns, cocking her head as Maggie laps up the spilt water on the floor. She doesn't remember waking up to get herself a drink.

 _Oh man._ She does remember Gray in her house last night, though. And she remembers making a total fool out of herself.

Claire still doesn't know why she lied to him in the first place. _Well, technically it wasn't a lie._ He asked her if she liked sex, and she said that it was fine. Sex _is_ fine. There isn't anything wrong with sex. She does think it's fine; better than fine even! It's just that she's never done it, nor is she allowed to do it.

She _can't._

But, maybe she should have been more forthcoming. There isn't anything wrong with being a virgin, so what's making her so embarrassed?

_The reason why I have to be one._

With a sigh, Claire walks into her bathroom. After unclasping her overalls, she shimmies her way out of the rough denim. Her thumbs then unclasp the buttons of her red-checkered shirt, peeling it off of her arms.

_How many girls has Gray undressed?_

Why did she just think that?!

Her chest aches. The fact that she slept in her bra baffles her, because she's never done that one before. As Claire unhooks it, the garment falls to the floor, underwire no longer tight on her skin. When she catches her reflection in the mirror next to her shower, she does her best to carefully avoid looking at the ugly marking on her lower stomach. This is hopelessly impossible, though.

Her surgical scar looks especially swollen today. Its jagged, ugly mark runs sideways, from under her left breast behind the small of her back. If she turns around, she'll have to look at it snake its way under her shoulder blade, which she'd rather not do. She'll just face forward and pretend as though it doesn't exist. She stares at the faded out red seatbelt scar on her trapezius. Prescribed cream managed to heal that, but it would take a miracle to fix the rest of her jagged torso.

Claire's skin in general is so pale and sensitive, that even the motion of taking her clothes off results in a painful scarlet look to it. Her shoulders are slumped, from years of horrendous posture. Her breasts are teardrop shaped, perky at the top, but heavy and full near the bottom. Growing up, she was shamed by the Catholic congregation that she lived in for their bigger size, especially in comparison to her petite body. One of the nuns had even suggested a breast reduction in front of all the other girls, causing Claire to bury her face in her hands, mortified. As if she could handle another surgery. It was as though her being larger-chested was some sort of sin.

 _Growing up there made everything feel like a sin._ Even her being left-handed apparently translated to something biblically superstitious in Latin.

Her arms are way too scrawny, her hips too wide, her legs too short, and her stomach nowhere near flat enough. Claire's used to picking herself apart in the mirror when she's clad in nothing but her plain-looking underwear. When she removes them slowly, she wonders if she'll have learned to undress in a semi-sexy manner by the time her wedding night rolls around.

She could criticize herself all day: a scarred-up, scrappy little nobody. With a sigh, Claire hops in her shower, letting the steaming water envelop her.

* * *

"Get up," says Saibara, flicking the light switch to Gray's room on. When the brightness hits his eyes, he groans, yanking his pillow over his head. He would rather not see any form of light in this lifetime.

Ann jolts up, instinctively covering herself with Gray's comforter. Her face burns with shame when she meets his grandfather's eyes. After nudging Gray with her elbow frantically, he reluctantly lifts himself up.

Saibara shakes his head. "Aren't you two a sight for sore eyes," he remarks.

Ann has buried her face in her hands. "Saibara, I-"

"Does your father know you're here, Ann?"

She shakes her head, muttering, "Damn it."

Gray slowly rises, thanking Christ that he put on a pair of boxers before he fell asleep last night. He stares blankly at Saibara, feeling unsteady. "I'll give you some privacy to change," he mumbles to Ann, reaching for a pair of pants from his drawer. She looks up at him with a thankful expression as he and his grandfather exit the room, shutting the door.

"What the fuck are you doing, Grayson?" Saibara asks harshly, hand on his forehead like he's going to faint. _What a drama queen._

Gray maneuvers his way into the pair of flannel pajama bottoms that he grabbed, still feeling wobbly. "Leave me alone, Gramps."

"That's Doug's daughter!" he exclaims in disbelief. _Like I don't already know that._

Gray ignores him as he makes his way over to the coffee machine, readying a cup for himself and Ann. His patience is already wearing very thin.

"You know this ain't your house, right?" Saibara continues. "My son comes to me, saying he needs to get help, I agree to take in my only grandson and mentor him, and-"

Gray's had enough. He slams his mug against the countertop angrily, the coffee inside splashing against his hand. It burns his skin, but he can hardly feel it in this state. Plus, it's not as bad as when he accidentally seared it while welding a couple of weeks ago. "Holy fuck," he snaps. "What do you want, old man?"

Saibara glares. "Some respect. This ain't Chicago anymore, kid. You can't just do as you please." He crosses his arms firmly. "You got responsibilities now, and a job, and you're gonna end up like your father if you-"

"Don't compare me to him," Gray says sharply. "Don't you ever." He shoots him a glare before chugging back his coffee. It's piping hot, but he needs it right now. This is the worst hangover that he's had in a _long_ time. He steadies himself by counting the marmalade tiles that soar across their kitchen backsplash, releasing his breath.

A knock persists at the door.

"Don't answer that," says Gray. _God forbid it's Doug._ His grandfather narrows his eyes at him.

"It's a Monday, and Mineral Blacksmith is open," he responds. Gray just leans against the fridge, scowling as Saibara rushes to get the door. _Stubborn old-_

"Hi, Saibara," he hears a tired voice say. _No._ _No no no no NO_.

"You don't need to knock, Claire," Saibara says curtly, welcoming her in. "Our customers usually just open the door."

"Oh, sorry. I didn't wanna bother you guys."

"No bother at all."

She follows Saibara into the kitchen, leaving Gray to forget any and all of his words. It's like the air has been removed from the room. "Boy, you look like death," she says with a laugh. Holding out a bar of _Hershey's_ milk chocolate, she extends it to him with a small, flushed smile, looking away so that she doesn't stare at his bare torso.

"I'll leave you to it," Saibara murmurs, before making his way out back. "You should probably go put a shirt on, though."

 _Jerkoff_.

"This is for you. I bought it at Karen's family store this morning, and jeez, she looked surprised to see me alive!" Claire offers it to him expectantly, but he's internally panicking. "I, uh... I dunno, I figured everyone likes chocolate." Although Gray loves chocolate, and it's a bonus that this one is peanut free for his stupid allergy, his stomach churns at the very sight of her holding the candy bar. "But, um, I wanted to thank you for helping me out last night."

Gray stares at her. "You need to leave."

She frowns. "I'm sorry if you're mad, or if I said anything to like, make you mad. It's just, I appreciate it. It was really nice of you, and…"

Her damp hair has been pulled back into two neat braids, face void of any makeup. She looks cute like this, all barefaced and natural. Gray rubs the stubble on his face in attempt to figure out what the hell he's supposed to do right now. "I mean it," he starts, not wanting to snap at her. Claire's face twists in confusion. "Please just go-"

Ann exits Gray's room silently with her head down, holding the oversized white t-shirt in her arms. She wears the same outfit that she wore to the inn the previous night, hair spilling down her head in tawny waves. She shuts the door, staring at Claire in front of her.

The room is filled with an uncomfortable, painful silence for a while. Gray swears that the seconds are ticking by like minutes. Claire slowly lifts her gaze to him, eyes flashing. "So, I was wrong about you."

Gray combs his fingers through his mop of bedhead. "Don't," he tells her, embarrassment edged in his voice.

Her cheeks flame. "Don't what? That _is_ all you care about, huh?"

Ann stands in the hallway, motionless, like she can't believe what she's hearing. He didn't think that Claire's voice was capable of getting this harsh. It's raised and it's angry and he _really_ doesn't need to entertain her right now. _I don't owe her fuck all of an explanation._

"You don't know jack shit," Gray snaps. He leans back against the fridge, in attempt to pretend like he doesn't give a damn about this whole thing. The coldness of the furniture is freezing on his naked back. "So, don't fucking pretend like you do."

Claire is stunned, as if no one's ever spoken to her like this before. She swallows, before regaining somewhat of a full composure. "Oh, really?" Sarcasm drips from her words. "I tell you that I won't have sex with you, you say that 'didn't even cross your mind', but then you go and get someone who will?"

Gray's temper is boiling. "That's very bold of you to assume that I'd even want to fuck some inexperienced, bratty prude." His words are nastier than hers, like a verbal slap across the face. Ann is visibly horrified.

"Gray, stop it!" she interjects, stepping forward to Claire with pleading eyes. "Please, Claire, this is my fault."

It's like she hasn't even heard Ann, though. Her face is painted with blatant hurt, squinting like she's trying to comprehend what's in front of her. "I thought you said that Mary lied."

"She did," Gray says.

"Did she though? Because like, here you are, and..." Claire chews on the inside of her cheek, inhaling a deep breath before shaking her head in disbelief. "Why couldn't you just tell me the truth?"

"Yeah, I really don't owe you nothing, sweetie. And last I checked," Gray adds, jamming his hands in his pockets. "You weren't exactly honest either."

If possible, Claire's face turns redder. "You said that you weren't like that."

He walks over to her closely. She's at least a whole foot shorter than him, so she has to raise her chin to look up at him with glaring eyes. "Like I said, I don't owe you _shit_ ," he says callously. "I don't owe _anything_ to some prissy little virgin."

"Gray!" Ann admonishes, before Claire furiously shoves the chocolate at him. He hardly even moves as he watches her angrily dart out his front door, slamming it behind her.

* * *

"Daddy, it's nothing," Ann tells her father, rubbing the sleep from her eyes for the fortieth time this morning. She can't even bring herself to look at him.

"Nothing?" Doug's starting to get choked up. Ann can't help but hang her head in shame as they stand outside of the inn. "I was worried _sick_ about you! I checked your room this morning and you weren't there! Cliff said that he hadn't seen you since you left after midnight!"

Ann digs her hands into the pocket of her pants, kicking at a stone. After reaming Gray out due to the fiasco she'd witnessed (and slightly took part of), she quickly ran home, hoping to slip back into her room without her father noticing. It was still early enough, but her plan failed miserably. "I'm sorry," she apologizes.

Doug's face is knotted in anger. "Ann, you nearly gave me a heart attack. What were you thinking, just disappearing like that without letting me know?" He crosses his arms firmly. "I'm not about to lose you-"

"Oh, Jesus-"

"Like I lost your mother."

"Dad!" Tears spring to her eyes. She can't believe that he's reaming her out in the open, or that she's crying in public, _or_ that he's pulling the "mom" card. Mary's father, Basil, passes by them on his usual Monday morning stroll, pretending as though he isn't eavesdropping, but Ann ignores him. "I told you I was sorry. You won't lose me, I promise."

Her father is on a hysterical roll, though. "Where the hell were you?!"

 _Having really, really, really drunk sex. With the town blacksmith. Apprentice blacksmith. No biggie._ Ann isn't prepared to answer his question; she hasn't even _thought_ of an excuse to tell her father. Plus, doesn't her father regularly converse with Gray's grandfather? _Is it seriously time to 'fess up?_

"Doug, I'm so sorry!" Claire calls, sheepishly rushing over to the two of them. Her footsteps are loud and frantic on the paved sidewalk. "We should have called, I know, but Ann stayed the night at my place."

Doug raises his eyebrows at Ann in confirmation. She tries to mask her dumbfounded expression. _Uhhh...?_

"Why?" her father demands.

Claire's face flushes. "I had… a bit too much to drink last night. Ann was the only responsible one, so she offered to walk me home, and she stayed the night."

 _Yeah right_. Ann was the most _wasted_ one.

Doug frowns. "Well, two girls walking alone at night isn't safe. Why couldn't you just stay at a room here?"

Claire clearly hasn't planned for this next portion of her story. She begins sputtering. "Umm, well-"

"Claire has responsibilities at home, Daddy," Ann says, cutting in. _Responsibilities? Really?_ It's generic as hell, but hopefully it'll spark some kind of elaborate excuse.

Claire quickly nods in validation. "Yeah, for real! I've got a dog that I just couldn't leave alone," she confirms. _Alright, there we go._

"Ah-huh. Cute thing, Daddy. It's not used to sleeping all by its lonesome at night."

"Plus, I've like, never drank before, so I was sorta freaked out. And... I just asked Ann to sleepover." Claire looks at Ann expectantly, giving her a small smile. "Thank you so much again." 

_Why is she doing this?_ Isn't Claire upset with her?

 _Well, she's mad at Gray. I mean duh, he's totally the worst, but wouldn't that make her mad at me too?_ And doesn't Claire think that she's trashy after the stunt she pulled? It's confusing the shit out of her.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," Ann says, when her father still has his lips pressed together. She pulls him into a hug. "I promise I'll let you know next time."

The harsh lines on Doug's face soften. "Just... be careful, girls. I know that nothing ever happens around here, but let's try to keep it that way." He releases Ann with a shake of his head, making his way inside.

She heaves a sigh of relief, turning to Claire with a thankful grin. "Come. I totally owe you for saving my sorry ass." Ann motions toward the inn's front doors with a wink. "I'll make you some breakfast: a real hangover cure."

"Look, I owe you an apology," Claire blurts out, furrowing her brow in guilt. Ann is taken aback. "I didn't mean to make you feel bad for... um, being with him last night. If it sounded like I was shaming you, then I'm so, _so_ sorry. I was getting angry at him without thinking about how my words would affect you. And I shouldn't have like... invalidated what you guys have going. And, also-"

"My God, girl, don't sweat it!" Ann takes Claire's hand appreciatively. "You're totally overthinking things. I'm not mad at you at all. I thought you'd be mad at _me,_ for... uh, well-"

"I'm mad at _him_ for being a jerk."

She leads her inside, not disagreeing with that statement at all. "Let me just try and explain the entire situation to you."

* * *

"You have to understand Gray," Ann tells Claire gently. She sets two plates down on their table by the window, looking as though she is choosing her words very carefully.

Claire looks down at the over-easy eggs in front of her. For someone with a hangover, Ann whipped them up pretty fast. She can't even get them looking this good on a regular day; doing them sunny side up has just always been the easier alternative. Her fork pokes into the yellow centre, contents of yolk dribbling out everywhere. They're still runny, exactly the way that she likes them. "Well, I don't," says Claire tightly.

"I know, I know," sighs Ann. She cuts into her own neat, light brown omelet, but doesn't appear to be very hungry. "He's a complex guy."

"I hope you don't think that I… look, I mean, if you're with him-"

Ann raises her hands in protest. "Claire, I swear to God that I am _not."_

"I mean, it's totally _okay_ if you are, obviously."

Ann shakes her head. "Gray and I… what we do is really just for fun."

Claire can't even imagine a world where she hasn't been taught to be terrified of sex, much less, consider it to be something "fun". She takes another bite of her eggs, swallowing before speaking. "Last night, I was a total mess too," she confides, thinking back to Mary's words: " _Is this your next one?"_ "I asked him if Mary was lying, and he said that she was."

"She was," Ann assures. She stops to prod at her omelet some more. It's folded to perfection, and she's just about destroying it with her utensil. "I mean... I guess there's some truth to it, if I'm being honest. It _was_ a really casual thing that him and me had going, but I told him last week that I wasn't down to do it anymore, and he agreed." She looks up from her plate with earnest eyes. "But, Claire, I was the one who went to him last night, 'cause _I_ wanted it one last time. I dunno if you get it."

She's right; Claire _doesn't_ get it. How great can sex be, if she's been told that it's a mortal sin outside of marriage? And since mortal sins cause bouts of anguish... _apparently_ , does sex just not feel good until the wedding night? Aren't the first couple of times supposed to hurt like a you-know what anyway, meaning that it won't even be great until some time later?

Or, maybe they just drilled all of this in her head back at the convent to scare her.

 _It's obviously good regardless of the circumstances if everyone's doing it._ Claire raises her brow. "What do you mean?"

"Well, 'cause you're a virgin," Ann says, slowly. "And that's fine! It's not even a big deal. I mean, it's your choice, but..."

 _Pfft, choice._ "Maybe I don't get it," she mumbles. "I grew up in a super... judgemental environment, and I try my best not to be like that. _None_ of this was my business, and I'm sorry for inserting myself." Claire sighs deeply. "Gray's right, he _doesn't_ owe me any kind of explanation. But, I dunno why I felt so... icky. I guess I just believed that he really didn't care about that stuff."

"Well, he's a guy, and guys tend to think with the wrong head," Ann laughs. "But, he's not pushy or anything like that. Yesterday was all on me." She exhales, staring out the window in front of her, before finally saying: "I know his words were hurtful, but he didn't mean what he said. I know he didn't; I promise. He's not a bad guy at all."

"Are you joking?"

"Gray comes across as a real dick, I know. But he's a good friend, and honestly, a good person. I mean it. You wouldn't believe the bullshit he's gone through."

 _He's not the only one who's been through hell._ Claire narrows her eyes. "Everybody's going through something. That's no excuse to be a jackass."

"Trust me, I know, and I tell him that all the time. But I swear to God, underneath that rough exterior, he's got a heart."

Claire dubiously takes the last bite of her eggs. "I'll believe that when I see it."

* * *

Gray cannot believe what he's hearing. "You _agree_ with her?" he snaps.

Ann frowns. "She totally bailed me out, and I got her side of the story. I understand where you both are coming from."

Gray scoffs. He rolls up his sleeves and drops his welding tools on the workbench, rubbing at the sweat on his forehead. If there's one thing that he loves more than work, it's being _bothered_ at work. "I'm not that bad a guy. I brought her home last night, and she's fucking bawling, 'cause she thought I was gonna want to…" He stops himself. The image of what he's about to say sounds so wrong to even think of. Claire looked paranoid -no, _terrified-_ yesterday _._ "Oh, and let me remind you that _you_ came on to _me._ "

"I know," Ann says.

He's just bitching at this point. "And she's pretty cocky for thinking that I would even want her."

Ann makes a face. "Oh, please, Gray. I saw the way that you were looking at her last night. Don't be stupid. Claire's super pretty _and_ nice." _Nice?_ Her temper clearly rivals his own. _"And_ you obviously find her attractive."

"So?" _Shit._ He just glares. "I mean, I don't even know her. She's such a fucking goody-goody. And what makes you even think that?"

Ann just shrugs. "Like I said, it was just pretty obvious to me. I have eyes, y'know."

 _How obvious could it have been?_ It wasn't like he was drunkenly staring or flirting with her all night... right?

"Plus," she continues. "Not that I support this statement, but I thought that guys are into virgins."

Gray scowls at her ridiculously idiotic comment. "I wouldn't know, I don't even think that I've been anyone's first time." From what he'd gathered, the seven girls in total that he'd done it with had all had sex before. _A virgin from being with virgins._ That sounded like the world's most confusing oxymoron. Nothing _felt_ different. None of them pulled him aside before the act, asking him to go easy on them, or to be extra careful, or anything cinematic like that. They seemed to have experience, and it was a good time all around.

But, he doesn't get why something intangible like virginity get fetishized; it's kind of unsettling in his opinion, to base sexual preference over whether a chick's done it before. _Besides, don't you have to go super slow and gentle for a girl's first time?_ He likes it when things are a little less vanilla in the bedroom, if he's being real.

"So, you don't like her?" Ann asks.

Gray feels a migraine coming on. _Women just don't give it a rest, do they?_ "Jesus Christ, Ann, I didn't want to sleep with her because I don't take advantage of girls. And she was fucking petrified. And I wasn't even thinking that. _And_ I felt like a huge asshole for no reason."

"Well," Ann says. "You _were_ a huge asshole this morning." Gray just rolls his eyes at her, but even that motion hurts his head. She's not wrong, though; he said some seriously fucked up shit to Claire earlier. "Look, I think that you like her, and that you _were_ being a gentleman... you know, up until like, two hours ago."

Gray denies none of this; he just blinks at her. "What would you like me to do?" he asks, without any tone of sincerity in his voice.

"Did you know that she lost her mom, too, Gray?" Ann pauses, frowning. "Like you and me?"

Gray stares silently at his work station in front of him, images of his late mother flashing before his eyes, like a slideshow of pure pain. Her looking so happy in her wedding photos, dressed in white and smiling next to his fuck-up father, her hugging him on his sixth birthday, beside his superhero cake, her with an IV in her arm, a horseshoe-shaped scar embedded into the left side of her shaved scalp.

"You guys are very similar," Ann finally says, when Gray doesn't answer.

"We aren't," he mutters.

She touches his arm, her skin cool to the touch. "Believe me," she says softly. "You are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My cousin is left-handed, and when going to Sunday school growing up, was forced to write with his right hand because using the opposite hand is only something that the devil does (the Latin translation for left is "sinistram," aka sinister, aka satanic/ evil). Hmm alrighty then, let's just force ppl to be ambidextrous out of fear lolz. But I think that following a religion is a really nice way to practice your faith and exercise your beliefs! Just not when you grow up living in fear of sinning and feeling bad for everything that you do, or for things that you can't even control ://


	6. The Game of Twenty Questions

Claire digs her tool into the soil, the sun beating down on her head. She reaches into her pocket to grab a bag of turnip seeds, scattering them into the ground. As she bends down to clutch her green watering can, its weight catches her by surprise, tugging back at her. _Why do I keep forgetting how much water can seriously weigh?_ Both of her hands squeeze to lift it with difficulty.

“That’s too heavy for you.”

The voice startles her, causing her to drop the whole can on the ground with a loud _thud_. Water leaks out of it, dribbling onto the dirt. Of course, it misses her patch of seeds.

Claire turns and glares at the owner of the voice. “What the heck do _you_ want?”

Gray stands by the entrance of her farm solemnly. He isn’t wearing his hat, so she can see his whole face. _His whole, stupid face_. “I know you’re mad,” he begins, lacking an understanding tone.

_Way to state the most obvious fact ever._

She squints at him. “Can you just go away, please?” Claire hasn’t seen him since Monday, and it’s now Thursday. She’s been at the inn with Ann, Popuri, and Karen twice since the incident with this jackass, but has been sure to carefully avoid him, even though Ann keeps telling her to hear him out.

“I’m trying to be nice,” Gray says rudely. The irony clearly has not dawned on him.

“What a change. You're doing a really good job; I'm _so_ impressed.”

“Alright, fuck this.”

“Whatever,” Claire scoffs, as he throws his arms up in exasperation. 

Gray just stares at her, like she's a puzzle that he’s gotten stuck trying to solve. “You really are fucking impossible, you know that? I barely know you, and I'm already _fully aware_ of what a pain in the ass you are.”

She takes a step closer, to show Gray that him dropping by all unannounced doesn’t intimidate her. _Even if it does a little bit._ “At least I’m not some rude, arrogant jerk,” Claire says, with her hand on her hip. She straightens her back and fixes her posture in attempt to appear taller.

“Don’t really know why I bothered,” Gray mutters. He crosses his muscular arms over his chest, looming over her. Her shoulders slump slightly, as she's once again reminded of just how little she is.

Claire glances up at him. His eyes are like glaciers: icy, nearly translucent in colour, and cold. She loves having blue eyes, and she _loves_ blue eyes on guys _(hello Leo DiCaprio)_ , but Gray's are flecked with contempt. She can't tell if they're full of hatred, or empty with hatred; regardless, his irises pierce into her with his every word. Her gaze shifts away uncomfortably.

“Don’t know why you did either,” she responds. With a frustrated shake of his head, Gray exits the path of her farm.

Irritated, Claire lifts the now-empty watering can, walking over to the side of her field where the river runs. She pushes it under the water, holding it there and waiting for it to fully fill up. There are footsteps again behind her. She turns, feeling very bothered as she keeps the watering can under the stream.

“I told you, that’s too heavy for you,” Gray repeats in a harsh tone. He’s returned, more aggravated than before, with his hands shoved in his pocket.

“Thought you left.”

Red creeps on to his face. He looks away. “Don't be stupid. Just let me do it.”

 _I'm being stupid?_ Claire internally decides to figure out how to train Maggie to sic unwanted visitors on her farm.

“I don’t need _your_ help,” she says sharply, returning her gaze to the river in front of her. Unfortunately, she’s wrong; she _does_ need help. The can's been left under the water for way too long, so much so that it’s filled to the brim. When Claire tries to lift it, she lets out a discouraged noise. He walks behind her, reaching over to lift it up with ease as his hand brushes against her own.

“You clearly do,” Gray retorts gruffly. He walks it back to her field, and before she can protest, pours it down on her patch of planted seeds.

“What are you doing?”

“… Helping.”

"You're going to mess it up."

"Blondie, if you can do it, then I'm sure that anyone can," Gray tells her.

Claire just huffs. _Fine. Do my chores. 'Cause that makes you my bitch._

Aw jeez, she's gotta stop watching movies and internally reciting their dialogue. She'd never say a line like that in real life.

"Why are you doing this?" Claire asks him. Gray is wearing casual clothes: a pair of navy blue sweatpants, a white t-shirt with one horizontal stripe running along the middle, and some black _Adidas_ sneakers. He looks like he’s supposed to be spending his day lounging; not watering her crops for her.

Gray stares at her for a very long time, his eyes still unreadable and aloof. Claire silently wishes that didn't look so gross and sweaty in her overalls today. “I’m sorry,” he finally says.

“What for?" Claire scowls. "Apparently, _I’m_ the one in the wrong. According to you, you don’t owe me sh-" She stops herself hastily. “You don’t owe me crap.”

“Do you just not swear?”

“No,” she answers, feeling like a little kid.

“That’s cute,” he says with a smirk.

“And you think that _I’m_ impossible.”

“Y'know, I’m trying to apologize.”

“Don't bother.”

“Jeez, you’re really that fuckin' headstrong, huh?” Gray tosses the watering can to the ground once he's done. When he's all pissed off like this, Claire can detect a rough, Midwestern dialect from him. It sounds so different than her own rounded, New England accent.

“You’re pretty lousy at apologies,” she informs him.

“Yeah, I don’t do 'em often.”

“I can tell.”

“Alright, listen,” Gray says, wiping each of his hands off on his pants. “I really didn’t mean to be such a dick.”

Claire looks away, rubbing at her forearm while sighing. She focuses on a humongous patch of yellowy weeds that she _still_ has yet to tend to. Would staying in the city have been easier than moving out-of-state, in the middle of nowhere to this small town? She enjoyed the hustle and bustle of Boston, but prefers the quietness of Mineral Town a tad bit more. The whole farming aspect though? Not so much, yet.

Something nudges at her elbow. _Huh?_

Gray holds out a tiny black box in front of him, expression still stoic. She doesn't bother hiding her surprise. “This is for you,” he says, softening his rugged tone. “Open it.”

Claire takes it gingerly, giving him a once-over. _A gift?_ She’s never gotten a present as an apology from someone before. Come to think of it, her convent hardly gave out presents at all. Lifting the top of the box, she gasps, staring down at the small, Christian cross pendant that rests inside. The pin is completely silver, with minuscule, clear gems dotting along the edges of it.

She widens her eyes. “Did you make this?” Claire asks Gray, astonished.

“Yeah, it wasn't hard at all,” he answers, fiddling with his hands. "I noticed you don't really wear any jewelry, and... I dunno, I figured I'd make this for you."

“It’s beautiful!” she exclaims. “Oh my gosh, you really did this?”

Gray looks over at her slyly. “Do I look like I’m fucking incapable or something?”

“No, no!” Claire says quickly, feeling like she's offended him. “I just-"

"I was teasing you."

She smiles at him. "Wow, it looks like something you’d find in a jewelry store!”

Gray just chuckles sheepishly. “Tell my grandfather that, next time he says that my work is shit.” He pauses, holding out his hands. “A-actually, don’t. I was supposed to be working on a broach for Mary’s mother. Her husband ordered it, but…” His voice trails off. “Figured this was more important.”

Claire throws her arms around him gratefully. “I love it!” she tells him. “Thank you so much! You really didn't have to do that.” Gray seems taken aback, like this simple hug is a foreign action that he hasn’t experienced in a long time. But his arms slowly wind against her body, returning the gesture awkwardly.

“I’m actually… sorry about what I said,” Gray mumbles. “I can be a real jerkoff.”

She pulls backward to face him, frowning. “I’m sorry I reamed you out. That was uncalled for, and I shouldn’t have gotten in your business.”

He shrugs. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that.”

“It's okay. You have no clue how often I lose mine.”

“Ha, I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

Claire doesn’t realize that she’s still holding on to Gray tightly. She lets go of him, and he does the same immediately.

“It’s my day off,” he says, trying to hide the embarrassment from his flushed face.

“I can see that,” Claire responds curtly, gesturing toward his attire. “What about those new and improved hours?”

“Pfft, the old man realized that he needed a break too, I guess.”

“Hmm,” she says, pretending to think. “Wanna walk to the Goddess Pond with me?”

He isn't smiling, but he's also not frowning either. “I’d rather die.”

Claire grins, holding the pin in her hands. "Let me just put this inside, and we'll go."

* * *

“Ann told me something,” she says. They're sitting on a meadow of bright green grass, listening to the crashing sounds of the waterfall across from them. Apparently, the pond is haunted, or inhabited, or whatever, by some urban legend named the Harvest Goddess. It's kind of creepy, but the rushing water almost becomes a mere trickle in the distance, as if the deity in question is trying to hear their conversation.

“She does tend to talk a lot," says Gray, rubbing at his eyebrow. He wonders when the damn piercing is going to heal. Some freaky hot blonde who called herself the "Witch Princess" did it for him, when he and Kai went over to the Sunshine Islands for a day. He hardly remembers getting it though; it's like she had them under a spell or something.

“How long ago did your mother pass away?” Claire asks.

Normally, he snaps at anyone who asks questions regarding his family. Last year, when Thomas knocked on the door of Mineral Blacksmith to introduce himself, he kept prodding Gray as to where his father had gone. When he wouldn’t answer the messed-up details about his whereabouts, Thomas wanted to know if he'd "run off" with someone else. Saibara had to physically pull Gray as far back as he could to prevent his grandson from sucker-punching the mayor square in the jaw.

But Ann’s words ring in his mind. Maybe he really isn't alone in this. Maybe she’s right. Maybe actually… talking about what happened, instead of bottling it all up, could be… beneficial?

“Last year,” Gray says. His face is somber. “From cancer.”

Claire reaches forward to touch his arm, almost instinctively. “I’m so sorry,” she murmurs.

“Me too.” He just picks at the grass, plucking a blade, then tossing it to his opposite side. Gray repeats the action until he's ready to continue speaking. “She had these… awful headaches. Like a migraine cranked up ten notches.” All he can picture is his mother’s face, twisted with pain as she constantly rubbed at her temples. “The doc assigned to us was this… cocky sonofabitch who just got out of medical school. I don't even remember his name, but I fucking hate him. We kept asking for an MRI, but he just kept prescribing my mother with these painkillers. We weren't able to switch docs, for whatever reason. He told us to try and wait it out, but she never got better. It’s like he wasn’t… fucking listening.”

Claire looks appalled. "Where was this?"

"Back in Chicago. That's where I'm from."

"That is so messed up."

"The United States healthcare system is messed up. Doctors who write off their patients are messed up."

Gray thinks of that smug asshole who let all of this slip under the rug. Some pretty boy from the south, who could probably pass the MCAT with flying colours, but didn’t have it in him to actually give a shit about his patients. “When we realized that this city doctor wasn’t gonna help... I mean, we coulda tried another hospital, but my grandfather told us to come here and see Dr. Hardy. He's the best of the best. Low and behold, he finds a malignant tumour in her brain.” Gray keeps his body still for a moment. “She went on chemo, but she didn’t stand a chance. He told us to just complete her palliative care here… where she could go peacefully.”

“That’s awful,” Claire whispers, her eyes red-rimmed. He inwardly prays that she doesn’t begin to cry. “I’m so sorry.”

Gray shakes his head. “We were too late. And it just shows how some young, conceited prick let this all go undetected. And we kept asking, but he just… it’s like he didn’t care. It’s bullshit. Tore my fucking family apart, too.”

“Is Saibara... your mother’s father?” Claire asks.

“Nope, my dad’s dad.”

“Oh.”

“My old man’s not in the picture, if that’s what you're wondering.”

Claire bites her lip. "I-I’m sorry,” she stammers. “I didn’t mean to-"

“You wanted to know if I even have one, right?” Gray says, rubbing his neck.

She chews on the inside of her cheek, before finally speaking. “Did he pass away?”

“You’d think,” responds Gray bitterly. “But, no. Losing my mom… messed him up pretty bad. He’s trying to get clean now.” It was like his father forgot that he still had a son that he was responsible for. He turned to any cocktail of drug he could find, getting himself high every night to self-medicate the emotional pain. “I was almost seventeen when she died, so because my dad wasn’t fit to take care of me, he made me stay here with my grandfather... so that I could learn a thing or two. ‘Cause I was just fucking everything up for myself in the city.”

“Gosh,” Claire says softly.

Gray nods. “I did so much dumb shit when we were still in the dark about her illness. I mean, I was always there for her, and I never let her know… how bad I was acting out. But I was fighting anyone who came near me, I thought that I got my girl pregnant, I smoked and drank in my bedroom all day.” He shakes his head. “I was a disaster in school.”

Claire scooches over to put her hand on his shoulder. “That’s so terrible, Gray,” she says. “I’m really sorry that all of that happened.”

He turns to face her, before his cheeks flame again. How long has it been since he’s opened up, or felt vulnerable to anyone? How long has it been since he’s even cried? Did he ever take the time to fully sit down and mourn the happy, normal life that he once had?

Did he ever have a happy, normal life?

He likes to think that he did. Before his mom started experiencing the headaches, everything was good. He still did dumb, teenage shit, but he was popular in high school. Him and Kai always got invited to every party, his mother was happy, his father was sober and consistently there for him... Gray was even a helluva lot nicer. Still pretty serious and sarcastic, but girls digged that about him for some reason.

“What’s your story, Blondie?” he asks, in attempt to change the subject.

“Well, can I give you my two cents first?”

“No.”

“I think,” she says, ignoring him. “That you’re still very angry at your father."

"Huh, what gave that away?"

"I wasn't finished!" Claire exclaims sharply. He'd rather not hear life-advice from a girl who clearly hasn't even lived yet. "Despite everything, I think that you should try to forgive him.”

He pulls back away from her, eyes flashing. “How the fuck am I supposed to forgive someone who isn’t sorry?”

“Relax,” she says, squinting at him. “You need to appreciate that he’s still alive, and _trying_ to get better.”

“Yeah, I appreciate him dumping me on my grandfather and getting me stuck in a life that I never wanted." Gray feels himself getting angry as he furiously picks at the grass around him. "My dad's too depressed to handle being sober. Just watch; when he's finished with rehab, he's gonna relapse."

"You don't know that."

"Oh, yes I do."

Claire frowns. “You can’t live with this kind of anger forever, Gray. It doesn’t sound healthy.”

_Watch me._

“I thought you were a farmer, not a shrink.”

She smirks at his comment. “I told you that I watch a lot of _Frasier._ ”

Gray's ripped out all of the grass from the dirt around him, the earth barren in certain patches of the ground, while some of the green blades stay glued to his pants. He wipes them off, staring at the waterfall in front of him in an attempt to calm down. _Forgive that asshole? Yeah, right._

“Why don’t you take it from someone who has no family at all?” Claire’s voice is soft. She touches his hand again.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

She looks down, hugging her knees. “So, it was always just me and my mom. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have a dad. When I was a kid, she'd just say that he didn't exist. And she'd always warn me to be careful of boys and strangers, and to not drink or go to parties when I would turn older... so that I didn't repeat the same mistakes that she made." Claire doesn't meet his eyes. "I found out later... um, not when I was a kid, but later... well, she never told me this, but I overheard that she went out one night, and some stranger put something in her drink. She woke up, didn’t remember a thing... and then a few weeks later, found out that she was having me.”

“Holy fuck,” says Gray.

“So, that happened, and I guess looking back now... that's probably the reason why she decided to get involved in the church. Plus, she wanted me baptized, and they accepted us both with open arms when I was a little. She started to work there, and I'd have these nuns babysit me all day." Claire smiles faintly at the memory, her eyes glazed over. "Because the wintertime is so busy for the church, my mom had to make deliveries for the priest constantly. The nuns weren’t offering childcare at that time, because of all the holiday donations that they had to sort through, so I'd have to go with my mom in the car. I was eight years old, and then during the drive one day, this pickup truck came outta nowhere." Her lower lip trembles. "... We ended up getting t-boned. They said she died on impact, and that I was lucky to even...”

Claire begins to cry. Not loudly or anything, but silent tears are rolling down her cheeks, running their way past her sun freckles. They land on the bed of grass, like raindrops falling. Gray widens his eyes, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Jesus, d-don’t cry,” he says frantically. _She's reliving her trauma; of course she's going to cry. What the hell's wrong with you?_ “Please, Blondie, please. It's okay-"

“It just gets me so sad,” she sobs, burying her face in her hands. She brings her knees to her chest tighter, weeping while curled up into a little ball. “I miss her.”

“I understand,” Gray consoles, panic mode set. Being an asshole for so long, he’s not very good at the whole comforting-process, and he doesn't know what to do when people start crying. But, at least he can honestly say that he somewhat relates to what she's gone through. “I get it, Claire. I promise you that I do.”

She’s still crying when she speaks up again. “I don't even remember the accident, but I had to have all of these surgeries… I was just this stitched-up little kid, without any family anymore, without anywhere to go, and the church ended up taking me in. When I got out of the hospital, the parish told me that they already buried my mom, but that they were going to give her a really special funeral mass. I was so young, and... my gosh, saying it out loud now, it's _so_ messed up, but I was told to swear on her grave that…”

Gray frowns. “That what?”

Claire sniffles, swiping at her eyes. “That I'd be chaste. You know, stay a virgin.” He blinks. “Like, when I think about it now, after overhearing the nuns and knowing what I know, I was brought into this world… by sin, I guess. Even though it wasn't my mom's fault, I guess they were trying to... well, I dunno what they were even trying to do, actually. Probably just trying to get me to follow the church's teachings. But, they made me swear off of her grave that I'd stay pure... until I get married.”

Gray can't even believe what he's hearing. It explains a lot about that night last week, for sure. What, with Claire’s fear about sex, her crying about not wanting to have sex, and even her anger when she found out that _he_ was lying to her about sex. “Can… can they even do that?” he asks incredulously. It all sounds so royally screwed up.

Claire goes back to her hands, sobbing some more. “I don’t know! I didn’t even know what sex was when I was eight. They just made me swear off of her life, and I did.”

“That’s not fair to you.”

“I know,” she whimpers. “But, I love my mom, and even though I didn’t know what was going on at the time… I've grown up not wanting to break that promise. Besides, she wouldn’t want me to end up used like she was.” Claire inhales and exhales through her tears, trying to calm herself down. "I'm grateful that the convent took me in and raised me, and helped me get closer to God when I was all alone. I'm still dedicated to my beliefs, and I think that I'll always wanna practice my faith... but it was so toxic in a lot of ways. I'd agree with some things, and then others just didn't make sense to me at all. We were made terrified to commit any kind of sin, or break the rules of the church." She rubs at her eyes. "There was only a couple of other girls who lived there, too, but the second that they could, they dipped. When I had enough money saved up from working, I was gonna buy an apartment nearby in the city, but... I saw the ad for here, and I realized how badly I wanted to get away."

Gray is completely dumbfounded, not knowing what to say. Religion is supposed to help people stay grounded in their faith; not scare them into doing it. He attempts to comfort Claire, tentatively stretching his arm out to reach for her, but apprehensively stops. She lifts her face to his for a moment, staring at his hovering hand over her shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Claire asks hoarsely.

His face feels hot. “I was trying to-"

She stares at him in disbelief. “Are you afraid to touch me?”

"Well, yeah." _You idiot._ Has he ever mentioned that City Gray would never do embarrassing shit like this? “I mean, no! What the hell? Of course not. I... didn’t wanna put my arm around you and have you think-"

Claire’s thumb drags across her eyes, blinking fast to get rid of anymore unwanted tears. “You’re not used to comforting people, are you?”

“Have you seen who I live with?”

She just manages a smile, gently tilting her head on his broad shoulder. He slowly brings his arm across her back, trying to ease his erratic heartbeat. _Why_ is he so nervous just sitting next to her?

“Aren’t we a mess,” Claire says, breaking the silence.

Gray shrugs. “Speak for yourself; I’m not the one with snot all over my face.”

_Can you not be a dick for five minutes?_

She pulls away from him in horror, hand flying to her cupid’s bow. “I do not!”

“I know, I was just-"

“Being an ass?”

The corner of his lip raises. “Guess so.”

“Thank you for listening,” Claire says, laying back on the meadow beneath them. Her long blonde hair sprawls out all around her, like a golden halo. Gray wonders if she realizes what a true knockout she is. Her eyes are the colour of dark waves that crash in the sea, so deep and watery blue, but sparklingly warm at the same time. When she's angry, it's as if there's an oceanic storm contained beneath them. Her brows are symmetrical arches, slightly brown in colour, similar to her curled lashes that help compliment her pretty eyes. A collection of light freckles are dotted along her cheeks, spattering across her small nose like a constellation of stars. While her face is smooth and pale, the apples of her cheeks are rounded and naturally blushed pink; nearly the same shade as her pillowy, full lips. Everything about Claire is a contrast to himself; where her features are innocent and soft, Gray's are corrupted with sharp contours.

“Thanks for hearing me out,” he replies. She's curvy, too... _like, ridiculously curvy._ He tries to keep his gaze facing forward at the waterfall, so that he doesn't start staring at her like some kind of mesmerized freak, but Claire motions for him to come beside her. He hesitantly does, head falling back onto the bed of grass. 

Her voice pipes up again. “I'm not missing much, am I?"

Gray frowns. "Missing much of what?"

She just gives him the side-eye in annoyance.

"OH," he says. "... Yeah. _Right._ You're not missin' out on anything."

Claire pushes at him playfully. “Jeez, I’m lame,” she mumbles, hand on her forehead.

Gray props himself on his elbows. “You aren’t. I mean, you are, in literally every other aspect.” She groans in embarrassment. “But, even though it’s bullshit of how it all… went down for you, I think it's fine that you wanna keep that promise. And anyone who tries to fuck with it isn’t worth your time.”

Claire looks over at him doubtfully. “You mean that?”

“For once, I actually do,” he says, staring up at the clouds. They're all shaped and puffed up in different ways, like dollops of fluffy icing that've been carefully placed in an impossibly blue sky. Despite a chilly wind running past them, Gray doesn’t feel so cold lying next to her.

“Gray?” Claire asks.

"Mhm."

"What's your favourite colour?"

He shakes his head at her. “Oh no, I’ll open up about my internal pain, but this is where I draw the line.”

“JUST TELL ME.”

Gray chuckles at the deep, comical change in her voice. “Blue.”

“I like red,” Claire says.

"Hm, I don't remember asking."

"Have you always been so unfunny?"

"You're pronouncing hilarious wrong."

Claire laughs, before prodding him with another question. “What’s your favourite band?”

He doesn’t give her a hard time with this one. “Green Day.”

“I like Bon Jovi.”

“God, no,” Gray says painfully. _The most overrated band to ever exist... and I mean that with every fibre of my being._

“I do!” Claire exclaims. "I told you, I love-"

"The 80's. I know. You've said that before." He tries to contain a smile. “Can you play an instrument?”

“Did you just ask me a question?” Claire feigns being impressed, hand pinned against her heart.

Gray pretends to pick something off of the grass to flick at her. She shrieks, covering her head. “On second thought,” he says. “I don’t really care anymore.”

“Okay, okay! I used to play the flute in school band. And I’d sing in the church choir. How about you?”

“Bass,” he tells her. "And a bit of piano."

“Really?”

“Really. My dad taught me. He's a big rocker.” Which would also explain the heavy drug usage, but anyway, Gray would like the subject to be changed.

Claire seems to take the hint. “Can you cook?” she asks.

"Not at all. Can you?"

“Yessir. I'm pretty good, actually.”

“Interesting. What’s your favourite movie?”

“Ugh, that's so hard. I _love_ movies," she says wistfully. "I guess _The Little Mermaid,_ though."

He rolls his eyes. _What a child._ “How adorable."

“But I also like _Clueless_ , _Bring it On,_ and _10 Things I Hate About You_.”

“Why am I not surprised,” he says. “But I've actually seen that last one, and I didn't hate it, if you can believe that.”

“Ha, what’s _your_ favourite movie?”

“Probably _This is Spinal Tap."_

Claire grins. "I've watched that before."

"Or _The Shawshank Redemption_ , but the book's better.” He winces. _Why'd I say that?_

"Hm," she says coyly. "I didn't peg you as a reader."

 _What the fuck else is there to do in a small, hick town like this one?_ Gray looks away, embarrassed. “I'm not,” he says.

“Well, you just admitted it, sooo...” Claire shrugs at him, but he merely rolls his eyes at her, pretending like he didn’t just expose his inner lameass. Gray's also surprisingly good at math, but he doesn't go around preaching that either. “Ohhhh!”

He huffs. “What?”

“I know why Mary started hating you!" she says gleefully. _Here we go with her hypotheses again... even though she kind of hit the nail on the head with her last one._ "You'd go to the library, you'd ignore her to read, she'd try to talk to you, to recommend books or whatever, and you just wouldn't give her the time of day!” Claire smiles triumphantly. "Tell me I'm wrong."

“You're wrong,” says Gray, even though she isn’t _that_ far off from the truth. She's just missing the many shocking, romantic advances that Mary had made towards him. "You forgot the part where her parents went out of town a couple of times, and she kept asking me to come over." For someone as shy as her, he was pretty surprised when she meekly approached him, wanting to know if he was busy.

Even more surprised when she unsubtly let him know that no one was going to be home.

It still puzzles him, though, why Mary wanted him; especially in that way. Gray isn't arrogant _(well, maybe a little),_ but he'd like to think that he's pretty good looking, from his high cheekbones (courtesy of his dad), to his Grecian nose (courtesy of his mom), to the strong, sharp jawline that shapes his face (courtesy of both of them). He still doesn't know how the hell he ended up with auburn hair and menacingly light blue eyes, given that neither of his parents possessed features like that. His mother used to tell him that it was likely from his father's Irish side, because apparently, Saibara used to look the same in his youth. Whatever.

Gray's handsome, sure, but is that reason enough to make someone shrewd like Mary want to jump his goddamn bones?

“Can I ask you a question about sex?” Claire's voice cuts through his thoughts. She looks flustered, her face pinched crimson as she stares at him through wavering eyes.

Gray has to laugh. “... Yeah?”

“Is it like… is it actually good?”

"Is it what?"

"Is it-"

"I heard you." Gray's cheeks feel hot as he awkwardly chuckles. He wishes that he brought his hat today, to pull in front of his face during times such as these, but he wanted to challenge himself to stop using it as a crutch. He's failed the challenge, because he'd like to use it right about now. “It’s fine,” he finally answers, tone mimicking her squeaky one.

Claire snickers. “I _hate_ you.”

"Are you asking if _I'm_ good, or if _it's_ good?"

She stares at him incredulously. "If _it's_ good! I don't care if _you're_ good- _"_

"Because I am."

Truth be told, Gray's only good because he forced himself to _get_ good. When he lost his virginity, he thought that lasting four minutes in the back of the chick's '01 Honda Civic made him some kind of sex-God... until he went to school on Monday, and she told all of her little girlfriends that he didn't bother trying to get her off. It was his first time ever, and he was only fifteen; Gray _thought_ that she got off. At one point, she even threw her head back and shut her eyes tightly. Kai said that this was always a clear indicator for him, while Kai's older brother insinuated that she was probably just praying for it to all be over. He advised them that in future, the female's clitoris needed some sort of stimulation if they even wanted to be considered as "kinda good."

When the two of them mistakenly let on that they thought the labia was the clit, Kai's brother stifled a groan, throwing them his VHS copy of _Up and Cummers 11,_ featuring rising adult-film starlet: Jenna Jameson. They studied the porno _religiously_ (there's an oxymoron for you), and when the girl reluctantly offered to give Gray another chance, he managed to get her off with his mouth _and_ his dick this time (plus, he even lasted a whole extra six minutes!) In turn, this lead to a very positive rumour spread about him, which also caught the attention of other girls.

This also lead to Gray kicking that chick to the curb; if she couldn't handle him at his inexperienced worst, then she certainly didn't deserve him at his skillful best.

Claire rolls her eyes back. "Ugh, never mind. I think I got my answer." 

"Ding ding ding. It's actually good."

" _But_ I heard it's better when you actually care about the person, and since you're clearly heartless..." She lets her voice trail off, before giving him a look. “Have you ever been in love?”

_No._

“I don't think so,” says Gray.

“But, you've had sex before.”

“Ah-huh?"

Claire blushes again. “Oh. Um, forgot those two things don't go hand in hand.”

“Rookie mistake." He smirks. "Have you?”

“I don't think so,” she says, now mimicking his deep voice.

Has Claire ever been out on a date? _She must have; she just probably had to make sure that they made room for the Holy Spirit between them._ A classic way to ensure that there won't ever be a second date. "You're probably going to need to go to confession after this conversation, so do you want me to come to church with you this Saturday?”

Claire looks over at him hopefully. “Are you being serious?”

“Nope.” Gray rises from his lying-down position, standing at the edge of the pond while staring back at his smug expression.

“You’re an ass.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Will you teach me self-defence? Or even boxing?” Claire’s voice is optimistic once again.

“ _Hell,_ no.”

“Still an ass.”

“You aren’t strong enough to box,” Gray replies, facing the waterfall.

“Can you swim?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he answers quizzically, cocking his head. Claire has walked behind him, looming behind his back. “What the hell are you-"

With all of her might, she uses her shoulder to ram Gray into the pond. He topples in with a very loud _splash_.

The water is _freezing._ Gray stares at her from in the pond, treading in one spot, his mouth agape. He’s not even mad, he's just… stunned. He never gets what's coming to him; karma always manages to skip him for some reason. He lowers himself down into the pond, tilting his head back to shake the hair out of his eyes. “You’re dead,” Gray tells her, in an eerily calm voice.

Claire is bent over, giggling like crazy. “You deserve that,” she sing-songs, stopping to pull on the bottom of her eyelid.

Gray swims to the edge of the pond, hoisting himself up in one swift movement. Her eyes widen, as she backs away slowly.

“Come here,” he says, all levelled.

"Aw jeez, no!” Claire screams, giggling as she rushes past him.

Gray runs after her, the wind biting into his cold, wet skin. He ignores this, chasing after Claire as she zigzags along the trees of the forest. He catches up to her in no time, grabbing her wrist with one hand and her waist with the other. She shrieks, trying to free herself from his grasp, but he just crouches down to hoist her over his shoulder. Claire clearly _does_ need to learn self-defence, because she doesn't know a single way to get herself out of this.

“Gray, don’t you dare!” She's panting hard from her short-lived run, thrashing while breathlessly laughing against him. He ignores her, propping her in a fireman’s carry. She's pretty much weightless like this. Gray adjusts one hand over the backs of her knees, the other holding on to her arm as she gets slung behind him. “Y-you’re all wet!”

“Here we go,” he says plainly, walking as quickly as he can to the crystal blue pond. Gray wonders if he's in shock or something, given that he doesn't feel pissed off right now. He feels... normal. If his hat were on his head when he got pushed in, then that would be an entirely different story.

Claire begins to protest for mercy between her snickering. “Gray, I’m actually sorry! IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!”

"Bullshit." How he lost his balance and toppled in from this scrawny girl behind his shoulders, he can't say for certain. “3… 2…1…” Gray finishes his count down, holding on to Claire tightly as they reach the edge of the pond.

“NO!” she hollers, trying once more to wiggle out of his strong grip.

And he jumps in with her.

They come apart the second that the water engulfs them. Gray rises quickly, watching as Claire's blonde head bobs up at the top, bangs all matted to the front of her face. She coughs, pushing her hair back as she swims over to him. Every time her shivering body tries to grab onto him, he keeps pushing her off lightheartedly, until she swims behind him and latches onto his back. He treads, bucking her off as she flies back.

Gray just bursts out laughing when he sees her come back up at the top; laughing harder than he ever remembers laughing. He can't recall the last time that he was so carefree like this; or the last time that he wasn't miserable. Claire stares at him in amazement between coughs, like she can't believe what she's seeing. Her arms stretch around Gray, holding onto him as she laughs along with him.

“You… suck!” she manages in between snickers.

Gray truly cannot recall the last time he had fun like this. Had it been years? _Years without fun?_ “You are _no_ better,” he tells her.

Claire sticks her tongue out at him, but then smiles, pulling her head back a bit. “I guess I deserved that, but you deserved it _way_ more."

The sounds of the waterfall rush over them, like big, crashing waves along the sea shore. The sun is out, the rest of the world is quiet, and there Gray is, ignoring his frigid tremors to holds this beautiful, soaking-wet, pain in the ass in his arms.

“Are you happy here?” Gray manages to ask her, after their laughter has died down.

“Yes,” Claire says with a smile, as she swims over to the edge of the pond. Her fingers are all blue and icy as she grips the ledge. “I'm much happier here than I was in the city. How about you?”

“I used to say no,” Gray says, swimming up next to her. “But I think that I am.”


	7. The Party

“We’re going to be late,” Gray calls, staring at his reflection in Claire’s mirror. He adjusts his cufflinks, feeling awkward and stupid in his suit. It's the same one that he wore to his mother's funeral, the only one that he owns, but he won't get into that right now. Cliff frowns next to him, figuring out a way to make his ponytail look presentable for the black-tie affair. Kai begins to straighten up his bow-tie, making a face. For a plain looking farmhouse, Claire’s place is big enough for them to all get ready in. Maggie barks at his feet, circling around the group until Gray reaches down to pet her.

“We’re almost done!” Ann replies from across the room.

“You are _so_ annoying, Gray,” he hears Claire say. Popuri is blocking her in an attempt to finish up her makeup, but she manages to poke her head out, with only one of her eyes coated with mascara.

“Stop moving around!” Popuri huffs.

“Yeah, it's gonna hurt like a bitch if I burn you with this curling iron,” says Ann, wrapping a lock of Claire’s golden hair around the heated barrel. Claire just sticks her tongue out at him.

 _Immature weirdo._ But Gray can't help smiling to himself.

“Hmm,” says Kai, pretending to be lost in thought. He slugs his arm around his shoulder.

Gray rolls his eyes, peeling his arm off of him. “What?”

Kai shrugs but gives him a knowing look, the kind that he used to give before they talked to any girl that they liked in high school.

 _Yeah right._ Gray isn’t falling for that pint-sized, childish, pain in the ass.

Right?

It's the evening after the Cooking Festival, which Ann, Claire, and Kai all tied for first place in. Apparently, it's Mineral Town’s thirtieth one, making Gray wonder just how old that large, pretentious asshole Gourmet is. To commemorate the anniversary, Doug suggested a large party at the inn that he’d willingly cater. Which, Gray doesn't totally mind attending; free food is free food, and if that means a corresponding social gathering to attend, then he'll just have to bite the bullet.

Claire's acting as his date tonight, which he also doesn't mind. Given that Kai's usually busy with Popuri, and since he has no other friends to call up, Gray's been hanging out with her pretty often these last few weeks. She's forced him into rounds upon rounds of twenty questions, effectively pushing his goddamn buttons, while he keeps finding ways to bicker with her.

But the thing is, he doesn't hate being around her. She actually makes him _laugh,_ believe it or not (and no, he's not just laughing at her every word because she's good looking). Claire's genuinely funny, and tolerable to be around, which is saying something for Gray.

But you didn't hear that from him.

"You know, the only reason I come here is to eat your food and hang out with your dog," Gray had told her after his shift one night, mouth full of an oatmeal cookie she'd baked. They probably weren't intended for him, but he ate half the batch regardless. Picking a piece off, he threw it to Maggie. "Right?"

"You know, the only reason I _allow_ you to come here is because your grandfather promised me a discount if I agree to hang out with you." Claire turned to him, her face deadpanned. _"Right?"_

Gray scowled. "Shut up."

"I'm serious! He did. I believe he described it as... charity work?" She grinned at his blank expression. "Oh, and I think my discount is actually coming out of _your_ paycheck."

What a goddamn pain.

But Claire's fun. She gives as good as she gets. And even though she's probably clueless to the fact that he finds her attractive, he doesn't hate being around her.

What do you call two people lacking in romance, yet making do with a budding friendship, and still fighting like cat and dog?

 _A fucking dysfunctional disaster._ Gray slips his cap on as Kai snatches it from his head. “What are you doing?” his friend questions.

He grabs it back. “It’s my fancier, _black_ _version,_ ” Gray argues, unwilling to give up the hat. “Plus, Gourmet wears one.”

“You tell him, Kai,” Claire says, before letting out a painful, “Owww!”

“Told you not to move,” Ann replies, patting at Claire’s singed scalp.

“Okay, you’re done!” Popuri exclaims. “Just put the lipstick on yourself. I’m so bad at it.” She moves out of the way, rubbing any makeup dust off of her powdered pink dress. Ann rises, raising the iron over her head to absently curl wisps of her braid that have fallen out. She wears light yellow linen shorts, and a pale blue, short-sleeved collar shirt; the closest that she'll ever get to dressing fancy. Claire emerges between the two of them, shimmying past in her off the shoulder, capped-sleeve red dress.

It looks like her hair has been chopped a few inches, given that it's coiled tightly in shiny blond ringlets that spill down from the top of her head. Popuri has smoked out Claire’s eyelids with grey shadow, lengthening her lashes with a dark mascara that makes her eyes pop. The bodice of her dress is tight with a modest plunge and loosens below her waist, hitting right at the knee. Gray can't help but have his eyes stay fixated on her.

Claire looks up at him quizzically, before applying the 90's-esque nude lipstick that sits on her dresser. Ann and Popuri stand beside her, marvelling at their work.

“You look like you saw a ghost,” Claire says, when she catches his reflection in the mirror. She places her tube of lipstick down, turning around to adjust his tie.

“No, you just look different,” Gray mumbles, watching her hands move. Claire's recently been going bare-faced since she started taking her farming seriously, but she's wearing significantly more makeup than he's ever seen on her. She doesn't even need it; she's a knockout regardless.

“Good different or bad different?” Claire asks, bending down to slip on her heels. Gray tries not to stare at her cleavage, but Kai is already gawking. Ann elbows them both with a scoff.

“Fine,” he decides. "Your eyebrows are... darker."

He's clearly very good at the whole flirting-thing since moving here, in case anyone hasn't caught on.

"Uhh, good observation?" Claire's tone is perplexed at his stupid remark. She bends down to secure the clasp on the back of her shoe. "They are darker."

She had told him that she got these heels for her confirmation when she turned fourteen, and they've been her only pair ever since. The shoes don’t do much for her height, maybe adding an inch or two, even though her head still barely hits his shoulders. But nonetheless, the two of them manage to look... pretty good, standing next to each other like this.

Popuri sighs at the sight of them together. “I haven't seen Karen wear this dress in _forever_ ,” she tells her. "But, I still kinda wish you went with her backless one instead."

Claire looks uneasy. “I don’t do ‘backless.’”

Kai leans over and whispers to him. "Doesn't backless means no bra? Because, I mean, you wouldn't mind-"

Ann reaches over to muss up Kai's gelled curls, leaving him horrified. "Karen always says that you're about as discreet as Cher performing," she scoffs.

"Do better," Cliff tells him, giving Ann a smile. Any kind of pent-up fear that she's expressed about him thinking that she's a whore seems to be immediately replaced with a sigh of relief.

“Ready?” Claire asks. She threads her fingers through her hair, loosening up her head of curls with a shake.

“No,” Gray says, honestly. She just copies his signature scowl that's been plastered over his face, taking his arm.

* * *

“I don’t think that I can dance,” Ann complains. “I ate _so_ much.” She dramatically collapses forward on the table, like she’s been placed in a food coma. Remnants of sauced stains, confectioners sugar and crumbs linger everywhere. Her father's mixtape of 70's and 80's music is blasting across air, with "Got to Be Real" by Cheryl Lynn pumping in everyone's ears.

Cliff shakes his head, poking at her skinny belly. “I never believe how much you eat until I physically see it.”

Claire pushes her plate of unfinished cheesecake away and clutches her stomach with a groan. “All I can say is thank God for Spanx,” she mumbles, watching Gray eye her plate. “Um, do you… want-"

“Ah-huh,” he interrupts, taking the cake from her. He smiles coyly as he dives his fork into it. It's as if he hasn't gotten a piece tonight, even though this is like, his fourth one now.

"Yo!" Karen calls, rushing over to their table. She gives Claire a hug from behind, reaching one arm over to pinch Cliff's cheek. She's wearing a sexy, slinky black number that accentuates her boobs. With her hair all pulled back like this in a high ponytail, her sharp cheekbones stand out even more prominently, and her eyes look extra angular and sultry. Three small, golden hoops dangle from each of her earlobes. "That dress is so bitchin' on you! Like, is it hot in here, or is it just _you_?"

Karen is pretty much everything that Claire wishes she could be: a total bombshell, wise-beyond-her-years, and fearless; she's also witty and unafraid of confrontation. One time, after she bet Duke in a drinking contest, Thomas let her know how incredibly trashy this was, but he wasn't done there. He then asked if she preferred soju like her Korean father (even though Jeff can't drink because of a condition), or vodka like her Russian mother (despite the fact that Sasha prefers margaritas any day). Also, who appointed this dumbass as mayor again? Karen just told him that her drinking was really none of his mother-effing business, and plus, it was ignorant to associate someone's alcoholic preferences with their country of origin. For instance, she explained that she loves Spanish sangrias, because the more that she drinks of them, the more her vision starts to blur; meaning that she doesn't have to look at Thomas' fartknocking face any longer.

She really is quite the character.

Claire laughs. "Thanks for lending it to me. I totally love it."

Ann pokes Karen's hip. "How come you never boost _my_ self-confidence with pickup lines, Kare?"

"Ummm, maybe because I don't like you?" Karen grins. "Take the hint."

"You're just not clever enough," Ann replies absentmindedly.

"Ew, fine. I got one." Karen scoffs. "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

"This is the lamest one," says Gray, mouth full of cake.

Ann rolls her eyes. "No-"

"So, your face just looks like that?" Karen snickers, holding out her hand. "Can I get a fist-bump or what?"

"Word," says Kai, after a brief minute. He reaches over to hit his knuckles against hers. "That was actually a decent diss." Ann pushes the tip of her nose with her middle finger at them.

"Don't worry," says Cliff, taking her free hand. "You're very pretty." 

Ann just looks away, sharing a blushed smile with him.

"Why didn't you and Rick sit with us tonight?" Claire asks. She turns to see Popuri behind her, handing her mother a glass of water that she retrieved from the bar. 

"Um, you think I want her here?" Ann quips.

Karen flicks a piece of a napkin at her. "Because apparently when you're engaged, you have to behave like an adult. We had to sit with my parents and his mother." She sighs. "Don't worry, though. I haven't forgotten any of you; you're all still in my wedding party." Removing Gray's hat, she tousles his hair. "Even you, Gray!"

"Lucky me," he echoes, pushing his now-empty plate aside.

This is the first that Claire is hearing any of this. She didn't expect to be accepted in Mineral Town so quickly, or to be included in a wedding party. She's not been one to easily fit in places, given that she can be seen as a total weirdo, and although everyone here is different from the people that she's known in the city, she likes them a lot more.

As Cliff leaves to grab Ann a Tums, Kai motions for Popuri to join him on the dance floor, to which she happily complies, much to Rick's disdain.

“Did you try these?!” two little voices ask in unison. May and Stu, two children from church, run toward their table, waving candy apples in their tiny hands.

Claire nods at them, her teeth hurting from the plethora of sweets that she's munching on all night. “Yup. Ann actually made them.”

Ann smiles amidst her food-coma. "Ah-huh."

“They’re so good!” Stu cheers.

"I bet I coulda made them better," Karen replies, brushing imaginary dirt off of her bare shoulders. Ann rolls her eyes.

"Yuck, you're the worstest chef in the history of the planet," May tells her with a disgusted face. "Remember that one fall harvest festival, where we all got super sick, and everyone blamed you, even your mommy, and-"

"Talk to the hand, kid," says Karen with a scoff. "Also, that was total speculation."

"Speculation, huh?" Gray pretends to be lost in thought. "Children don't lie."

"Specu- what?" Stu asks, pondering. Gray takes this moment to steal the candy apple out of his hands. "Hey, Gray!"

“These give you cavities,” he points out, pretending to take a bite out of it while laughing. Stu pouts until Karen snatches it away from him, giving it back.

"Gray, you're one to talk," mumbles Ann, groaning. "Damnit, I need that Tums."

Claire pushes Gray. “Are not even children spared from you being an ass?”

He just smirks, pulling his eyelid down at her the way that she does.

Elli, the town nurse that Claire met at her first church mass in Mineral Town rushes over, trying to seize the candy apple from her little brother. “Stu! You know how I feel about caramel,” she scolds. He ducks away from her, laughing with May as the two children run their way under the dinner tables. She turns to apologize to them. “Sorry, if I let him OD on it, he’ll be bouncing off the walls all night.”

Gray shrugs. “I tried to help, El. But apparently I'm an ass.”

“You are,” the four girls say in unison. They laugh at Gray’s annoyed expression.

"Oooh, Elz, you look so good. You're like a tall Carrie Bradshaw," Karen says, marvelling at Elli's flower printed, ruffly maxi dress.

Elli smiles sheepishly. "Weird, I'd like to think of myself as more of a Miranda."

"Who are these people?" mutters Gray.

"You're definitely a Samantha," Ann tells him. "Maybe with a dash of Miranda. And I only know that 'cause Karen made me watch the show."

Since the convent did _not_ offer HBO television, Claire had to find a way to watch _Sex and the City_ , given that it was all anyone was talking about. One of the girls in her home economics class passed a note along, asking if Carrie deserved Aiden, to which she wrote back _duh, of course!!!_ , despite never seeing the show.

Evidently, this was not the right answer. Apparently someone like Carrie deserved Big... whatever that meant.

She was curious, and besides, if watching _Friends_ (which talked about sex) was kind of permitted, then what was so taboo about this show? She and two other girls from the convent had decided to rent the VHS of the first season from the public library, just to see what all the hype was about. Plus, someone else at school told Claire that she was a total Charlotte; making her determined to find out if this was good or bad. After obtaining the tape and watching three racy episodes, one of them hid it under her pillow before bed, but the head nun discovered it the next day. Since it was Claire's idea, she took the full punishment, and a sermon on temptation was conducted the following Sunday.

“Are you going to church tomorrow?” Claire asks Elli, but she doesn't hear her. Someone from across the room motions Elli over, towards the inn’s front doors. It's a man; older than her, wearing a light-coloured coat. Her heart flutters at the sight of him.

_Tall, dark, and incredibly handsome._

He looks like a male model on _Vogue._ Not _Teen Vogue_ \- no. Legit, real _Vogue._ His sharp face-shape rivals that of a young Gregory Peck. In the brief glimpse that Claire gets of him, she notes his angular features, chiseled bone structure, and deep-set almond eyes that bore into her own.

And then just like that, he's gone.

“Sorry guys, I’m grabbing Stu and heading out,” Elli calls as she walks away, waving. Claire's eyes go to her, then dart back to the spot where the guy was standing; he's still nowhere to be found. Did she just hallucinate all of that?

No way; they locked eyes. _He had to be real._ A chill crawls its way up her spine. She's about to ask Karen and Ann if they know or saw the man too, but they've also fled the table.

 _“You_ look like you saw a ghost,” Gray says, motioning around the room. He's managed to obtain a bowl of homemade ice cream, spooning some into his mouth contently.

She's definitely not about to ask _him_ if he saw the man. He'll lie and say something stupid, like it was just the ghost of hospitality haunting the inn.

_He wasn't a ghost... Handsome Man was totally real._

“Yeah,” Claire answers, trying to shake the guy's image out of her head. _That was totally weird._ “The ghost of your once-healthy pancreas. Stop eating so many sweets!”

“Gourmet is on his nineteenth slice of pie, and he still looks great,” Gray says with a shrug, mid-bite. Claire watches the huge food connoisseur in question as he unhealthily forks dessert down his throat. You should have _seen_ him during the main course portion of the evening.

A large crowd of the townsfolk begin to join Kai and Popuri on the dance floor, their footsteps almost harmonious. Karen Reebok-dances with Rick behind her, in an unsuccessful attempt at shielding him from seeing how close his sister is dancing to her boyfriend.

Saibara comes up to their table, tapping his foot. “Are you always eating?” he asks his grandson, bothered.

“Hey,” says Gray. “I don’t see anyone asking Gourmet that question. But ‘cause I’m slim, it's alright to point out how much _I'm_ eating.”

Saibara dismisses him as a hopeless case. He then turns to Claire, eyes sparkling beneath his thick, white eyebrows. She hasn't realized their colour is the same icy blue as Gray's. “You two should dance,” he suggests, stroking his long beard.

Claire looks over at her date, but he just rubs his neck. “Aw, Gramps. being out in public like this is punishment enough,” Gray complains, until Saibara pulls on his ear, hoisting him up from the chair. " _Ow._ " For an elderly man, Saibara is nearly at his grandson's height. She always feels extra small when she's around tall people like them.

"Hi, Gray." Mary walks over, flashing him a winning smile, before adjusting her glasses to give Claire a once-over. She has on the same outfit that she always wears, as if she didn't get the memo to dress up tonight. Saibara lets go of Gray, and slowly backs away, like he's anticipating a shit show about to unfold. Which, given what happened last time, is a fair assumption.

Gray blinks at her. Claire quickly stands up to pull on his hand. "Sorry, Mary. We were just about to dance!" she says. She avoids Mary's uncomfortable gaze by maneuvering into the middle of the dance floor, so that the townspeople surround the two of them.

"Look, I saved your ass," Claire tells him.

"My hero." Gray rolls his eyes. "Can you even dance?"

"I can Cha Cha Slide away from my responsibilities."

"Really, eh? What else?"

"Mony Mony" by Billy Idol comes on, and Claire grins. "I can dance to this." Has she mentioned that she _loves_ the 80's? It's all that her mom used to listen to when she was a kid, and hearing anything from that decade really just takes her back to a time when things seemed a lot easier.

Grabbing Gray's hand, Claire snaps with her fingers, hopping around and laughing. She's careful not to lose her balance on her heels as she moves her hips and keeps her feet busy. The last thing that she needs is to take a klutzy tumble in front of everyone.

"You look stupid," Gray tells her, hardly containing a smile.

"That's why I've got your hand; so people will associate _you_ with me."

Kai and Popuri glide over behind them, snickering as they point to Gray.

"You look stupid, man," Kai tells him.

"How the hell do _I_ look stupid? I'm not doing anything."

 _"Exactly,"_ Karen chimes in, grabbing her other hand as she dances with Popuri. Claire spins along the dance floor, relishing in the sense of finally, truly belonging somewhere. The lights are shining above her, the music is resonating, and she feels a sense of freedom wash over her.

When "Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting" by Elton John comes on, Popuri claps her hands. "You can play this one on guitar, can't you?" she asks Kai.

He winks as he busts his moves down, grabbing her hips and rocking against her. "Gray's dad taught us."

Rick glares, crossing his arms over his chest, but Karen pushes him toward Duke, laughing as she dances with his mother, Lillia.

"Can you play this on bass?" Claire yells over the music. 

Gray looks at her as he takes Dukes's wife, Manna's hand, spinning her over to crazy old man Barley. For a second, Claire wonders if he's even going to answer her. Anything that deals with his father is a touchy subject.

"Nah, piano," he finally yells back.

Doug is whirling Claire around, so much so that she's starting to get dizzy. She tries moving her arms to the beat, in hopes that this will also help her catch her balance. When her feet start stumbling, the music slows down, trickling into "Drive" by The Cars. She loses her footing and falls into Gray's chest, grabbing a fistful of his dress shirt. Claire looks up at him with big eyes as his hands steady over her back, hovering above her scar tissue.

"You're a disaster," he tells her.

From the corner of her eye, Ann emerges, dimming the lights with Cliff by her side. She gives out a thumbs up. 

Claire just clears her throat and straightens up. “But is it really _that_ bad being here with me?” she asks, watching the townspeople get into their respective pairs. Kai is embracing Popuri so lovingly, while Rick clutches Karen by the hips. Almost instinctively, Gray begins to lower both of his hands down Claire's spine, settling on her waist as he pulls her closer. Tentatively, she brings her hand up to his broad shoulder as their chests press up against each other. This is making her kinda nervous; she's never danced with any guy like this before. Come to think of it, she's never even been held like this before either.

“Hmm?” Gray says, pretending like he didn't hear her. “Oh, yeah. It is.”

Claire arches her brow up at him. “You’re the worst. If this is your version of flirting, then I don’t know how you get so many girls.”

Mary squints at them from across the room, but Gray spins Claire away in perfect timing. She actually may have just been giving Ann a dirty look from behind them, but no one can say for certain.

He just smirks down at Claire. “I don’t know what to address first; the fact that you apparently know how many girls I get, or the fact that you think I’m flirting.”

“So you’re not.” Claire says it more like a statement. She glances around the room one last time for that man, but he's definitely gone. Unless he was just... never there to begin with? _How freaky._

“With your little blonde ass? No. However...” His voice trails off. “With the Gourmet…” She giggles, dancing to the beat of the music and the soft murmuring of the lyrics.

“Bring Gourmet up one more time, and I'll let him know how obsessed you've been with him all night, _”_ Claire warns, pointing at the chef critic, who is _now_ sipping on three strawberry milkshakes. At the same time. _Yikes._

“Don't reveal my secret,” Gray says, spinning her around. He gives her a smug smile. "It's really Mary who I want." Claire just allows him to lead her against the soft melody of the calming tempo, hoping that it'll slow down her thumping heart.

So he isn’t interested. Not like she is either. _Yeah right._ Claire isn’t falling for that arrogant, volatile, jerk.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throwback to the graphics in MFoMT where Gourmet is just positively stuffing his face at the cooking festival... like, just truly shovelling food into his mouth. I can rate it, and I can relate it xD
> 
> Also, I love Karen. I too, wish I could be like Karen (BUT NOT IN THE 2020 SENSE OF THE NAME LMAO) Those meme Karens have done themselves dirty this year, I can tell ya that much.
> 
> Hopefully you guys get the Sex in the City references. And if you don't... well, you're not missing out on that much lolz


	8. The Coat Check Closet

"I'm about to leave if you don't do something worth my time," Karen cautions, sipping her wine slowly. A very sober Rick shifts in his seat next to her, watching Kai with distasteful eyes.

Kai seems to be deep in concentration, scribbling on tiny slips of paper with a yellow pencil. Popuri takes each one and folds it carefully, her elbows propped up on the table as the inn's old grandfather clock chimes midnight. The townspeople have all cleared out, but the party isn't over for this group.

"What are you doing?" Ann asks him, sweeping up the floors. Doug allowed her to have everyone stay for a bit longer if she promised to clean up the mess afterward. She leans on the broom, hand prodding her hip.

"Something stupid, I'm sure," Rick mutters.

Kai scribbles a final word, before dropping his hands on the table. "Okay, done," he says proudly. Taking out his purple bandana from the breast pocket of his suit, he places the folded up papers into it. "I wrote out a shit-ton of activities that we have to complete, _in pairs._ "

Gray mock-whispers over to Cliff and Claire. “This is the part where we leave." Cliff chuckles in response, but Claire is intrigued. She's never gotten to experience high school parties, or large friend-groups for that matter, back at the convent, so this is a new sort of fun for her. She feels kinda like a grown-up person here in Mineral Town; not a _different_ person, but one who's actually getting to live her life like an almost-adult.

"Okay, Rick and Karen are up!" Popuri cheers.

"Woo," says Rick, drumming his fingers on the table impatiently. Karen waits expectantly.

Kai rummages the tiny slips of white paper with his hands, jutting the bandana in Claire's face. "You can do the honours," he tells her.

Claire takes a sip from her virgin screwdriver, which Gray referred to as a glorified _Sunny D_ , and gingerly selects a piece of paper. Her eyes widen as she reads from it. "Oh."

"What?" Karen demands impatiently. She and Rick are the oldest of the group, both turning twenty-three, but Karen's at about the same level of teenage immaturity as the majority of them.

Gray leans over Claire's shoulder to read it, his cheek brushing hers. She shares a smile with him. "'Attempt a panty raid on each other,'" he reads, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Kai, what the fuck?"

"Huh?" Rick's face is burning. Karen looks fascinated though.

"Hey, I found these online," Kai says defensively. "You have to individually sneak into each other's houses and steal your 'significant other's' pair of underwear."

Karen shrugs, downing back her wine. "I'll try anything once," she says, darting with Rick to the front door. "What's the best way to get into your house, Pope?"

"Back window," replies Popuri with a giggle. Rick's face looks like it has significantly paled now.

"Good luck!" bids Claire and Ann, laughing.

"I'll try my best not to wake your mother," Karen says to her fiancée, opening the door. "And make sure that _my_ mother doesn't hear you!" Rick has given up uttering protests, sighing as he exits with her.

"Us next," Ann says, shuffling through the bandana. She hands it to Cliff and lets him read it.

"'Eat a tablespoon of mustard and… make orgasmic noises. To each other." Cliff pauses slowly. "I _hate_ mustard."

" _That's_ the part you got a problem with?" Gray asks incredulously.

"Kai, no. My dad is, like, sleeping upstairs," says Ann uncomfortably. "Plus, what about my stomach-ache from before?!"

Kai taps on his wrist. "Time's a-wasting."

Reluctantly, she rises to grab two spoons from behind the bar drawers, while Kai runs into the kitchen, happily returning back with a bottle of mustard. Popuri retrieves the spoons while Kai squeezes the condiment onto them. He murmurs over to Gray, loud enough for Claire to hear: "You know what Ann sounds like in bed. So, you know, if she's holding back-"

He punches Kai's arm. " _Please_ shut the fuck up."

Claire keeps her eyes fixed forward, but she laughs inwardly to herself. It's fun to watch Gray out with his friends, acting like a normal, social, human being.

Cliff and Ann are now facing each other, spooning the condiment into their mouths. "Ohhhh, uh, that feels… fantastic," he mumbles. His mouth is full of the nasty mustard, and he looks like he's going to puke. The group watches in horror. "Just, feels… so-"

"Ah, ah, ah." Ann tries to have her voice go up in a moaning octave, but she impulsively darts over to the garbage, retching and scraping her tongue. Cliff takes a napkin and spits into it, his face twisted in disgust.

"I hate you, Kai," he swears, tossing the napkin. "Give me that!" Cliff snatches the bandana from Kai's hands, grabbing a handful of white papers, reading and throwing them off to the side until he finds a suitable one.

This is honestly the most that any of them have ever seen him say or do.

Kai frowns, trying to steal the bandana back. "That's cheating!" Claire runs to Ann through the commotion, filling a glass of water for her behind the bar. She watches from across the room as Cliff selects a piece of paper carefully.

"Here's one for you," Cliff says, his eyes full of mischief. "'Call your parents and explain how you lost your virginity.'"

Popuri's eyes widen. "Cliff, no!"

"You can be spared from this one, Pope," Cliff says with a wave of his hand. "Your mom's definitely asleep. Kai has to do it because he's an asshole."

"Agreed," says Gray, drinking the last of his beer.

Kai desperately turns to Claire and Ann. "Can't you two help me out here?"

Ann fills up her empty glass of water again, for what seems to be the tenth time, taking a swig. "Go!" she snaps, pointing to the bar phone. Claire laughs as he sulks over there.

"This is wrong," Kai protests. "Popuri’s _just_ as responsible; she helped me fold the papers!"

Popuri shrugs. "You better thank God that my brother isn't here to listen to this."

The group gathers around the bar, watching as Kai lifts the receiver of the telephone nervously. "It's the middle of the night; they're not going to answer," he tells them, a pathetically hopeful tone to his voice.

Gray shrugs. "I dunno, your parents always were night owls. I'm sure someone's awake."

With slow fingers, Kai enters his home number, listening for a dial tone. Someone picks up after the first ring.

"Oh, Ma," Kai says sheepishly. "Hi, uh… yes, it's me. Is this a bad time? Oh, it's not? That's… terrific. Listen, is dad there?"

Cliff nudges him. "No. _She_ picked up, so you have to tell _her."_

Kai makes a face. "Never mind, Ma. Okay, so… uh, well… remember when I was a freshman, and you asked that girl a year older than me to come over, 'cause I needed math help? Yeah, the really pretty one. Yeah, yeah... that's her name, alright. Great. I'm so… glad you remember her."

"I know where this is going," Gray tells Claire.

She widens her eyes. "You do?"

"He fucking bragged about this to everyone he came across in grade nine."

Ann pops a piece of gum in her mouth. "Well, now he's bragging about it to his _mom._ "

Kai glares at them, but then fixes his gaze at a spot on the ceiling, avoiding the faces of all of his friends. "So, remember one day… I asked if you could go to the grocery store and buy _Gingerale_ 'cause my stomach hurt? Oh great... you remember that too. Well, I only asked that of you… 'cause um, I wanted to have… some alone time, y'know, with my tutor. So we did… get our alone time."

Cliff hits the back of his head. "TELL HER." He isn't even wasted; he's just come out of his timid shell to get sweet, sweet, _vengeance_ on Kai.

"Agh, Jesus. Okay, we, um, had sex…ual intercourse. And it was on the table… please don't freak out. Yes, that's why you found a crack on it later. I'm really sorry I didn't tell you…. Okay, lower your voice. What? Did I use protection? What kind of a question is … I gotta go, Mom. I love you, and PLEASE DON'T BE MAD AT ME!" Kai slams the receiver down, turning to Gray.

"You didn't tell her about the part when you pulled out on your textbook," Gray points out. "Then you had to throw it out, and when our teacher asked where it was, you lied and said it somehow caught on fire."

Yikes.

"I'll kill you!" Kai shouts. "It's _your_ turn now, bitch." Unsuccessfully, he lunges for Gray across the bar. 

Claire picks up a piece of paper from the bandana and frowns. "'Closet time?'" she reads in confusion.

Gray scowls at Kai. "How old are you?"

"What is that?"

"It means that you two have to go into the closet, for _seven minutes_ ," Kai replies. He hops over the bar, much to Ann's dismay, pushing Claire and Gray into the inn's coat check closet. Before shutting the door, he tosses them both a wink. _"Have fun!"_

Claire pauses for a moment, unravelling it all. "Wait, is this-?"

"Seven minutes in heaven?" Gray finishes. "The game that you play when you're like, twelve? Yeah, it is." He shakes his head, eyes fixated on Claire in the crowded space. _Twelve?!_

"Oh... aha ha. I was still playing _Pokémon..._ when I was twelve." She laughs nervously. _Chill! Play it cool, play it cool, PLAY IT COOL._

How's she supposed to play it cool when she's never even kissed anyone before?!

"Of course you were." Gray rolls his eyes. "This is exactly how I had my first kiss."

"Ah." Claire looks up at him, then back down at her shoes. "That's... baller."

_Alright, you've lost your speaking privileges. Shut up before you say anything else stupid._

"What? Look, relax. Just talk with me. Then, you can mess up my hair in the end if you want it to all be believable."

_Is he being… nice?_

"It's nothing," Claire says, in a wavering tone that obviously tells him that this isn't just "nothing."

Gray cocks his brow at her. "Let me guess: you've never played this game before."

The words blurt out of her mouth before she gets the chance to process them. "I've never even had my first kiss before."

_I thought I told you that you lost any and all speaking privileges, Claire!_

Even though it's dark, she can tell that Gray's staring at her. And he does this for a long time, silently. Definitely not long enough for it to have been seven minutes, but hey. "You're a liar."

She raises her hands. "I swear to God, Gray! Like, cross my heart." Claire does so immediately, her fingers shaking as they skate over the left side of her chest. It's been almost a full season of her living here in Mineral Town, and she's already passed out drunk in front of a guy, yelled at said guy, pushed him into a pond, and now, they've found themselves stuck in a closet with one another. _If anyone at the convent heard about this..._

Gray just blinks. "You must be joking."

"I already told you, I'm not."

"I find that very hard to believe."

Claire frowns. "Why?"

The ventilated panels in the closet allow a trickle of light in. She can just make out Gray's face through the darkness, illuminating him beneath the slivers of shadow. He looks like he's turning red. "I just… do."

"I was a social piranha in high school," Claire explains uneasily. "Boys didn't want to talk to the church-girl-freak. And if they _did_ come up to me, it was just to say something inappropriate or mean. Besides, going straight to my convent after school didn't exactly win me any brownie points."

He nods slowly. "I'll bet."

Claire rocks back on her heels, wondering how much time has passed. "Thank you for being so nice about this."

"I told you, I'm a nice guy. Thank _you_ for not freaking out."

She huffs. "Do you think that I'm some kind of spaz?"

"Weirdo," Gray says, inching closer to her as he pokes her forehead. "Not a spaz."

Claire looks up at him for a very long time, before he shifts his eyes away. The muffled sounds of their friends' chatter can be heard from the other side of the closed, closet door. "Tell me something no one else knows about you," she suggests.

Gray just barks out a chuckle, bending down to lift up the bottom of his pants. He maneuvers his leg, raising it up to the light in order to reveal an inked-out, shadowy anvil etched into his calf. Claire widens her eyes.

"Ouch! That's so dark! When did you get it done?"

"A week after my mom died... when I found out that I was becoming a blacksmith," says Gray plainly.

"Does that make you mad? That you didn't get to pick?"

He pauses again, dropping his leg before speaking up. "I was a fucking disaster, Blondie. I _had_ nothing else to pick from. I guess being thrown into the trade was… kind of good, in a way." Gray rolls down the hemline of his pants, adding, "My mom would have been happy with this."

"With your tattoo?"

"Yeah, right! With me actually… I dunno, _applying_ myself."

Claire nods, like she completely understands. It's silent again, before Gray speaks up. "I think it's your turn."

"Oh, right." She's suddenly feeling very, very brave.

_If Gray can open up to me like that... can't I trust him with this?_

Mineral Town Claire is seriously a new Claire. Well, maybe not new, but a helluva lot more daring.

And not so afraid of committing a sin in the dark.

"Okay," she says, sucking up a breath. "Zip down my dress."

"What?!" Gray hisses.

"Do you not know how?"

He glowers. "Of course I know how."

"'Kay, then do it. You'll see in a second why I don't do backless anything."

The scars that run along her back are permanently embedded into her flesh, like a curse that just can't be lifted. She's always done her best to pretend like they don't exist, but she's reminded of the grafts in her skin every time that she hooks her bra strap, slips a shirt on... looks at their ugly markings in a mirror. These scars are the skeletons in her closet, the embarrassment that she just can't escape. But if she speaks them... _shows_ them, perhaps the weight that they have on her might get lifted.

Jeez, this place really _i_ _s_ changing her.

Claire gathers all of her curls in her hands, placing them in front of her neck to leave her shoulders bare. She turns away, no longer facing Gray, as his fingers hesitantly pull down on her zipper. With a moment of nervous delay, she shimmies away from the dress' fabric, in order to further expose her back.

Gray's breathing hitches. Her scars are brandished and fully disclosed now. "Jesus, Claire."

"At least you don't sugarcoat your reactions," she mumbles, clutching the bodice that covers her breasts tightly.

"I didn't mean-"

"It's okay. I _know_ they look bad."

"I'm sorry," he apologizes. "They don't. They just… look like they hurt." Claire is almost glad that she can't see his expression. "What happened?"

"It was from the car accident that my mom and I were in," Claire says quietly, her gaze fixed on the wall in front of her. "I really hate them. They're honestly disgusting."

"No, they aren't," Gray scoffs. Then, he softens his voice. "Don't say that. They don't look bad at all."

He's wrong; or he's just lying. Claire is _well-aware_ that they look ugly, and grisly, and unattractive. She isn't showing them to Gray so that he can help change her mind about them, or convince her that they're hardly noticeable. She's showing them so that she can... show herself _to_ him. Might as well stop pretending like they don't exist. This is who she is; who she's forever going to be: a scarred up, scrappy little nobody. 

_Oh well._ It's almost... calming to disclose herself like this. It's as though acknowledging her huge insecurity with a witness present helped her, in a way.

"Trust me, you'd change your mind if you saw what the scar looks like on my stomach. Some connect from my back over to my bellybutton and-" Claire stops herself immediately, realizing how truly dumb she is. "I mean, I can't _show_ you it on my front right now, because, um-"

"Yeah," Gray interrupts. "Uh, I understood."

 _If you pulled down your dress to show him, you'd be flashing your tits, bonehead._ Claire inwardly swears at herself. She's just glad that the bottom of her dress, and her Spanx, are covering up any bit of her blue underwear that might have been exposed otherwise. No one's even seen her in a bikini, much less, in this kind of vulnerable state before. But a deal's a deal, and the nerve that she had to do this actually surprises her.

Still facing away from him, Claire tightens up the bustier of her dress. She hears Gray take a step forehead, listening to the sound of him pulling the zipper back up for her. She turns to look at him, dragging her hands down the fabric in order to smooth it out. "Wanna see my secret tattoo next?"

Gray's face is still flushed. "Sure."

Claire holds up her blank wrist, not realizing that her own cheeks are burning as well. _What's redder, my dress or my face?_ "You, um, have to really squint, but if you just close your eyes and picture a tattoo, I'm sure that'll help."

"You're a comedian, Blondie."

She grins. "I actually think that I want one, though."

"Of?"

"Maybe a little paper airplane. Cause it feels like I've spent so much of my life just sailing around."

Gray gets quiet. "Are you leaving?" he finally asks.

"Has it been seven minutes?"

"No, I mean, town."

"What? Oh, no."

"Good," he says.

Claire raises her eyebrows. "Hmm?"

"Good _riddance_ , if you did leave."

"I don't like you," Claire says with a scowl.

Gray scowls back at her. "I don't like you either."

But the two of them still share a small smile.

This tender moment is fleeting, though, because he immediately starts bothering her again. "So, you've _never_ been kissed?"

Claire covers her face with her hands, mortified. "Please, Gray. It's so embarrassing."

"Never," Gray repeats, half to himself, half to her. He smirks.

She groans. "Don't even."

But then, the gears in her brain start turning all over again: what if she just gets it over with? Right here, right now.

"Gray?"

"Hmm?"

Her voice is so soft that she wonders if the words have even escaped her lips. "What if I asked you to kiss me?"

She can tell that he's staring at her hardcore right now. Like, _really_ staring. "Why?" Gray asks, his tone wavering a bit.

"Because I'm seventeen, and I haven't had my first kiss yet," Claire says, not meaning to sound so pathetic. "Which is very discomforting, for a teenage girl." _You loser!! WHY ARE YOU SPEAKING?_ _!_

He probably can't even relate to this at all; despite them both being teenagers of the same age, he's got _way_ more experience than her. She hasn't even stepped her foot on a base, and he's been around all of them to get the home runs. _Or, however that dumb baseball metaphor for physical intimacy goes._

Gray rubs at his neck. "So, you want me to kiss you."

"PLATONICALLY," she adds, dramatically holding her hands out. _How even more embarrassing would it be if I had to_ ask _him for romance_? "Just like, you know how actors are friends off-screen, but if they have to do a make-out scene, they do it and it's like nothing ever happened?"

Claire doesn't _feel_ as embarrassed as she thought she'd be by giving him this request, though. Her nervous system is hard at work, sure; amping up her heartbeat and getting the blood to pump through her veins, but standing next to Gray in this coat check closet is making her feel... excited.

"Good analogy," Gray says, levelled.

"I mean, you've done the 'just as friends' thing before, haven't you?"

If possible, his face grows even more crimson. "You got a mouth on you, Blondie."

Claire scrunches her freckled nose at him. "Is that a no?"

"That's a definite no," says Gray. But he takes a step toward her, and she does the same.

His voice is low when he speaks. "Don't be scared."

"I'm not," Claire lies, tone wavering. Gray shakes his head.

"And don't do anything that you're not comfortable with."

"I feel very comfortable with you," she admits, and it's the honest to God truth. "For some reason."

"But you hate me."

"You got it."

She looks up at him, and him down at her. Without any other words, Claire gets up on her tippy toes, and Gray reaches down to pull her face closer. His fingertips cradle her jaw, and almost instinctively, he looks into her eyes before pressing his lips to hers.

Her whole body feels like it's tingling. It's like a lucid dream; something that she swears is a figment of her imagination, but is so very, physically real in front of her. Claire doesn't even realize that her back is on the wall, as Gray's body presses against her own. Her knees buckle, but he supports her with his strong frame. The front of his cap brushes the top of her head.

Is this what she's been missing? The intimate, lightheaded dizziness, the feeling of someone else's mouth on hers, the straight-forward _desire?_

_NO. Not desire. This is platonic. Strictly platonic._

Yet the length and passion of the kiss says otherwise. It's like Claire is dissolving into him. She parts her lips slowly, and without realizing that this is an invitation, finds his tongue lightly slipping against her own. Her stomach does a flip-flop. Gray is rough with his motions, but at the same time, gentle with his touch. His intoxicating cologne smells like cedar and black current, and he tastes like sugary liquor. Claire allows herself to relax, truly loosening in his arms, as their kiss gently subsides, like a bold firework slowly dying out. She wishes that it hasn't stopped.

And she almost wishes that she didn't just think that, either. Almost.

They break apart, with her leaning against the wall in attempt to catch her breath, and him adjusting his dress shirt collar. Claire can't make out Gray's expression through the darkness of the corner; she's busy trying to wrap her head around what just transpired. She's seen first kisses take place in some of her most coveted movies, but it was so different to actually experience it for herself in real life. It felt comforting, like a warm blanket in a cold bed.

_It felt good._

"Here," Claire whispers. She reaches up to grab Gray's hat, ready to mess his hair up. She wasn't brave enough to run her fingers through it during the kiss.

She kind of wishes that she did, though.

Gray takes the cap from her, standing up straight and holding it out in front of him. "I sorta need that," he pants, and she realizes that he's out of breath just like her.

"What?" Claire is confused. Why is he using the hat to cover his crotch-?

_Oh boy._

Embarrassed, she doesn't meet his eyes. But, then she remembers his hair, and gets up on her tippy toes once again to muss it up while still looking away. His auburn locks feel so rough in her hands. "Alright, well, um, now it'll… look like you got action."

 _He did. You_ both _did. Who are you trying to kid?_

"I got _platonic_ action," Gray counters, so seriously, that Claire just bursts out laughing awkwardly. He stares at her incredulously for a second, before joining in, too. The closet door opens at that moment, with her hands still on his head. She pulls them back immediately.

"You guys are _such_ fakers," Karen says, holding on to the door with one hand, swinging a pair of polkadot boxers in the other. Rick stands behind her, his face burning with shame as he clutches something lacy in his fist. The group gives an unimpressed look. "Next time, can you at least _try_ to make it believable?"

"Will do," Gray promises.

They take a step out of the closet, and as Claire turns to shut the door, she shares an unassuming smile with Gray.

* * *

He dreams of her that night. He doesn't mean to, but he does. How can he not?

_Caressing her slender body, he sighs against her skin as she writhes under him. He undresses her slowly, scars and all, kissing her every inch as she moans._

Gray wakes up in a panic, staring at the Red Hot Chili Peppers poster in front of him.

"Holy shit," he whispers.


	9. The Blowout

Ann looks like she can hardly contain her excitement. “He kissed you?!” she exclaims, her eyes all clouded with dreaminess. She’s wiping down the tables at the inn to get ready and begin the day, but she's finding herself a little distracted.

Claire touches her lips for the millionth time that morning. They still feel swollen and supple from the evening before. “Only ‘cause I suggested it.”

Ann waves her hand in dismissal. “Gray’s too chickenshit to make the first move. But _you_ did!!” she squeals, all giddy and girly. _So unlike Ann._

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you placed all of your chips on us,” says Claire.

Ann blinks. “What a ‘Gray’ thing to say.”

She finds herself blushing. _He’s not really rubbing off on me, is he?_ “Well, how else would anyone kiss me?”

Popuri traces designs into the table with her pointer finger absentmindedly. “ _Someone_ would have kissed you sooner or later,Claire.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I get this feeling that you don’t realize what a _catch_ you are,” Ann says, leaning back on the table and using her hands to outline the hourglass of Claire’s silhouette. _“Hello?”_

“What a ‘Kai’ thing to say,” Claire laughs.

“Agreed,” says Popuri. “It’s actually kind of scary.”

“Whatever. All I’m saying is that it was bound to happen _eventually._ The tension between you and Gray was crazy.”

Claire chews on the inside of her cheek. “But we agreed to a _platonic_ kiss.”

As if. That kiss felt like anything but.

Not that Claire minded.

Ann raises her brows. “I'd hardly call his kisses _platonic.”_

She’s right. Even though it was her first kiss, Claire knows that it screamed _passion_. And if Gray was just acting, then he needed his Academy Award ASAP. “Look, face it. We're just friends. And even at that, I don't think that he can stand me.”

“He wouldn't choose to be around you if that was the case. I think that he likes you,” says Popuri. She teeters on her chair like a little kid, nodding at Claire in satisfaction, as though she's cracked a secret code to the town’s unpredictable blacksmith.

“Our friendship consists of sarcastic comments and bickering,” Claire explains. “We-"

“Oh my GOD! Stop denying it!” Ann exclaims in exasperation, shaking her head. Her tawny braid sways with the movement. “That’s like, the basis of your chemistry.” She takes two shot glasses that are immersed in soapy water from the bar sink, pouring them into a wine glass simultaneously, making a _poof!_ motion with her hands. _A regular Bill Nye_.

“I _really_ don’t know if that’s the case,” says Claire. "And now you're totally starting to sound like Karen."

She keeps her mind occupied elsewhere by helping dry the inn's freshly-washed cutlery, patting the forks with a bright tea towel. If she engrosses herself with the excitement of utensils, then perhaps all of this will just exit her mind. The image of Gray pressed up against her will be out of her thoughts in no time.

_Hands clutching her close, lips hot and heavy, tongue slick-_

Er, maybe not.

“Claire? _I said_ , ‘do you like him?’” Ann is waiting impatiently for an answer.

But Claire doesn’t have one.

Everything lately feels like a lot to think about. She's gone from living a life where no one around her did crazy things, to suddenly being thrust into the crazy. Not that she minds at all, of course. Mineral Town is the first place that's felt like home in a long time. It’s a fresh new world for her; one that she's more than happy to experience.

It's just that Gray is the most volatile person in town; he's unlike anyone else here. Which probably has to do with the fact that he didn't grow up around here, but Claire digresses. She doesn’t even know how to begin categorizing him, because he's also unlike anyone that she's ever known before. The fact that they're friends is totally weird, given that they're polar opposites, but to consider them as anything more would just be bizarre. Friends don’t exactly act the way that they do.

_They also don’t kiss the way that we did either._

“He’s just so irritated all the time,” Claire says. “Sometimes, I wonder why he even hangs out with me.”

“Because he _likes_ being around you,” Ann says, as though this is blatantly obvious. “It’ll be like pulling teeth to get him to admit that, though.”

Claire pauses for a moment, considering it all. She’s not exactly sure how to feel. Gray is brash, rude, and cold; there’s no denying any of that. But, he’s also dependable, funny, and maybe even… kind of sweet. She remembers the tenderness of his hands and the coarseness of his desire yesterday. To make someone feel weightless is one thing, but to have the body of someone else weighing down on you feels… even better.

Maybe the kiss is making Claire want more. Maybe she's starting to develop something for Gray. And maybe... maybe he even shares these feelings.

She looks up at Ann’s hopeful face. It’s not like Claire doesn’t like Gray; it’s just that she truly doesn’t know how to feel around someone as unorthodox as him. She's never even had a guy like her back before.

“I should go talk to him,” she decides.

Ann shakes Claire’s shoulder eagerly, while Popuri claps beside her, cheering. _Yeah, they definitely have some kind of bet going on._

* * *

Gray crashes down his welding tool against the scorching silver metal. The emerald necklace that he's almost finished crafting stares back at him, demanding his entire focus. _As if_ he can focus on his trade right now. His mind is set on one person that he just can't seem to wrap his head around.

Saibara looks over at him expectantly. “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you, Gray?”

_The adrenaline of the kiss, the heat pumping through his veins, the pounding of his heart._

“No,” Gray says.

Normally, his grandfather just drops it, which helps aid his case in justifying what a lost cause Gray is. But today, Saibara slams his mallet down on the anvil, so hard, the room shakes.

“Get your head outta your ass and start focusing,” he admonishes harshly. “I know you spent your night with Claire, but-"

“Don’t,“ Gray snaps, his cheeks hot. "Don't bring her up."

Yet the dream is already fresh in his mind once again, like a vivid hallucination inside his head. It feels like something forbidden; something that he was never supposed to see.

Something that he was never supposed to _feel_ for himself.

Of course Gray wanted to kiss her. How could he have thought that repressing this would work? He's wanted his mouth against hers the whole damn time.

He just isn't supposed to want her in the context of his dream, though. He's not supposed to want to undress her, or push her down on a bed, or press his lips against the entirety of her body. And Gray _doesn't_ want this; he keeps telling himself that his vision was completely unintentional, and likely derived from her asking him to zip down her dress prior. He doesn't want her for the sole purpose of hooking up, despite this being his go-to, default entanglement with girls. He's never _not_ done things that way.

But she's got him going all soft here. _Now what?_ _What the hell do I even want anymore?_ Gray's had girlfriends in the past; he's had flings in the past. So _why_ is it like he's walking in to this whole thing blindly?

 _Because she's different._ Because everything feels different now.

Claire isn't like any other girl that he's known before. This also means that the way he feels about her is unlike anything that he's experienced before, either. She's kindhearted and sarcastic and stunning and-

_And I know that she wanted my kiss._

_And I'm not sure if I'd be any good for her._

_And I can't say how she'd react if she knew what was running through my goddamn head._

_And I'm fucking confused._

Saibara doesn't look too happy right now. “You can’t just let shit stop you from doing your work. Your father asked me to mentor you, which I been trying to do, but-”

Gray picks up the unfinished jewelry with his gloved hand, squeezing it tightly between his palm. It’s so hot that it radiates through the heat-proof fabric. “Gramps, there's nothing wrong with my work. The fucking necklace looks fine. So _please_ hop off my back.”

“You know, the real problem's inside of you-"

“And here we go. Fuck off with that shit.” Gray's temper starts to boil, taking over. This hardly ever used to happen when his mom was alive; she really just kept him grounded. He was still stone-cold, sure, but that demeanor stopped him from experiencing any kind of red-hot anger. Without her around though, he lets it unleash more often than he'd like.

The door to Mineral Blacksmith opens at this point, and Gray is ready to fully lose it. “Whoever it is,” he says angrily, turning his body to face the front door. “Get the fuck out of here-"

But it’s Claire. Of course it’s her. She stares at him with worry, hand hovering over her heart. “Gray," she says softly, taking a step closer to him.

Her lips look enlarged and tender today. She stands there clutching a basket, wearing a modest skirt and crisp top, hair pinned back like a beautiful doll. Gray remembers pushing her against the wall of the closet yesterday, messing up her head of curls.

He decides to stop remembering.

“Blondie, get lost.”

Her face knots in concernment. “I think that you need to relax,” she mumbles, clearly confused at his outburst.

“I fucking mean it, you need to leave.”

She narrows her eyes at him sharply, already getting mouthy. _What else is new?_ “Why? Is someone else in your bedroom right now?”

Saibara just lets out a low whistle beside Gray. It was a good burn, for sure, if it weren't to be directed at him.

“You just love to push my goddamn buttons, don’t you?”

“What is your problem?” Claire snaps.

 _Internal crisis regarding my views on casual sex, relationships, and you. No big deal._ "You're really something else, eh? It's none of your fucking business."

"No, seriously. Why don't you get that stupid chip off your shoulder, and-"

“ _You_ are my problem, Claire.”

This painful statement that he's hurled at her causes her eyes to well up immediately. She retreats back like a wounded animal, her lower lip trembling as the tears spill down her cheeks. Saibara steps in between the two of them, holding his hands out as if he's a hockey referee during a heated game.

“Gray!” he scolds. “My God, I understand that couples fight, but-"

“Couple?” Claire barks out a laugh, blinking back her hurt in record timing. “As if I would _ever_ give myself to some-"

“Give yourself?” Gray retorts. “I wish you could hear what you sound like right now. You’re such a fucking evangelist.”

She starts to correct herself, cheeks burning in embarrassment. “As if I would ever _want to be_ with some hotheaded-"

“Oh, like _I'd_ ever want to be with an uptight-"

“Whatever!” Claire shrieks, turning to his grandfather abruptly. She hands him a basket full of white and purple turnips with aggressive force. “These are for you, Saibara. But you deserve way more than that for dealing with him.”

“Leave,” Gray snaps again.

She spins on her heel, reaching for the doorknob. “I’m not gonna be late for church because of you, so _yeah_ , I am leaving!”

“ _Heaven_ forbid. Of course you’re going to-"

But Claire's already stormed out, slamming their door shut. Her perfume still lingers in the room though, like warm sugar and sweet candy combined. The scent of her so close to him last night was positively intoxicating.

And now she's gone, having been driven out of his house for no good goddamn reason.

Saibara rifles through the basket silently, clearly impressed with her crops. “You can never just keep a good thing, can you, Gray?”

_Mouth hot on his, her body so small, their kiss so needy._

What is his problem?

“No,” Gray says. “I fucking cannot."


	10. The Doctor's Orders

Claire stands in front of the church, tucking her off-brand polo into the knee-length baby pink skirt that she's wearing. Her fingers shake with anger as she brushes her bangs across her forehead and adjusts her long ponytail. She doesn't want to look like a fuming hot mess at church.

In attempt to try and calm herself down, she exhales a couple of deep breaths. How stupid is she? For thinking that she could stand to have a courteous conversation with Gray, much less, _date_ him. He is _not_ for her. As far as she’s concerned, the two of them are hardly even civil right now. _What a complete jackass._

She walks into the church, its serene presence already helping to conciliate her. Claire loves the bright lights illuminating the stained glass windows, the bell which chimes the start of mass, and the kind pastor himself. Carter's greeting voice soothes her; he speaks and listens with such patient eyes, that she can't help but feel consistently valued.

Elli is sitting in the second row of pews, motioning Claire over with her warm brown eyes and a wave of her hand.

“Sorry,” Claire apologizes quietly, sitting at the edge of the pew next to her. The wood feels cool against her back. “I hate walking in late.”

Elli shrugs, tousling her short, chestnut hair. “This is the first time that I got here early. It’s such a disaster helping Stu ready,” she whispers, pointing to her little brother. He sits in a pew at the far back of the church next to May, fidgeting with his combed over hair. Poor Elli is twenty-two, works as a nurse full-time, and has to care for both Stu and her ailing grandmother at home. Claire and Popuri have both offered to watch him in order to alleviate some of Elli's stress, but she always insists that she's fine.

A person is sitting in the same pew as them, right beside Elli, but Claire just keeps her eyes fixed forward as mass begins.

Although this isn’t a Catholic church like the one she grew up in, she finds solace in any place of worship. It isn't even that she's crazy religious (well, to some it may seem that way), but she experiences comfort when practicing her beliefs with other likeminded people. Claire's church used to discuss the importance of The Holy Trinity, a moral compass, family, love; all teachings that resonated so easily with her. But then there were things that she just didn't agree with at all: Bible inerrancy, the church's views on homosexuality, being told that premarital sex would send you straight to hell if you didn't seek salvation for it. And don't even get her started on their opinions of her late mother practicing yoga. Or that time the priest called _Jesus Christ Superstar_ "inaccurate blasphemy." _Duh it's inaccurate... when is a group of people bursting out into song and dance realistic?_

So much was imposed on her at such a young age; so much guilt regarding sin... so many strict rules that she had to abide by blindly. Looking back, Claire disagrees with a lot of them. She used to question them all the time! And she’s actually pretty sure that she broke a few just last night.

She’s breaking one currently by holding on to her unapologetic grudge towards Gray.

Gray…

_No. Not here, not in church!_

“Let us offer each other a sign of peace,” says Carter at the front.

Piece of her damn mind. Claire tries her best to focus on forgiveness as she shakes Elli's hand.

“Peace be with you,” the person beside Elli says, reaching behind. It's a guy. A man. 

_Handsome Man from the inn!_

He’s universally attractive, in a way that's kind of hard to believe. He’s older too, probably quite a bit older, actually. His hair is a swoopy, jet-black, lucious mane over his head. His brows are thick but well-groomed, eyes a mysterious, deep brown. He's clean-shaven and proper, with a stethoscope strung around his neck.

_IS HANDSOME MAN A DOCTOR?_

“Oh, peace,” Claire manages out. His hands are delicate and soft against her own. _Surgeon hands._ He smiles so brightly at her, that she thinks she could just melt into a little puddle on the floor at any given moment.

He's still holding on to her hand, as though he's found himself lost in a trance. Realizing this, he lets go immediately. “My apologies,” he murmurs, his tone leveled and cool. Claire just blushes and looks away, her stomach churning with millions of butterflies. Elli averts her eyes to the two of them quizzically.

Mass continues, but Claire’s mind feels like it's going at a mile a minute. Her heart is about to burst out from under her ribcage. She keeps her head lowered the rest of the time, but opens one eye as she kneels down to pray.

The man has kept his gaze on her.

* * *

Claire nervously chews on her cheek outside of the church, watching as Stu runs around with six stolen pieces of host clutched in his hands. Elli groans, darting after him.

“I’m sorry for staring.”

It’s the man. He's approaching her after mass like she excitedly feared he would, hands stuffed in his pockets. She takes note at his beautiful complexion, well-proportioned stature, and sexy, sexy Southern drawl. _Like a clean-cut cowboy._

_Okay, don't be lame. You can do this. Don't be embarrassing. Play it cool._

“I just couldn’t help but admire how beautiful you are.”

Claire blinks, struggling to find the right words to say back. She doesn’t remember the last time that someone told her that she was beautiful. She doesn't think that she's necessarily _bad_ looking, but she isn't somebody you'd write home about. Her nose is a bit too pointy, her eyes too big, her lips kind of uneven, and then there's those damn scars... _I definitely wouldn't call myself "beautiful"._

Though the man standing in front of her certainly is. His almond-shaped eyes are striking as they stay fixated on her.

_Because he's waiting for a response! SPEAK, IDIOT._

“It’s okay, I was staring too,” Claire finally says sheepishly. Her face burns scarlet. “I mean, not at you! I just, um-” Her throat feels dry with nerves. “I’m Claire.”

“I know who you are,” he says, nodding at her. “A pretty name for a pretty girl.” He stares at her as though he is captivated. “My name is Trent. Doctor Trent, actually.”

Claire takes his hand, swooning. A stupid grin is plastered over her face. “You’re a doctor?”

He points at his stethoscope. “I graduated out of medical school almost two years ago.”

_CALLED IT! Well, the stethoscope helped, but I still CALLED IT._

Claire’s heart pitter-patters. She can feel it pumping inside of her chest. “Oh, wow,” she says.

_Yikes, how old does that make him then?_

Trent smiles grandly. His teeth are impossibly white, as though they've been professionally done. “I generally study epidemiology and oncology,” he explains. “But I'm here as Mineral Town's general practitioner now."

"Oh, wow," she echoes again, mindlessly. _Can't you say anything worthwhile?_

"I’m a man who's just very concerned with health overall.”

“I agree,” she says, pretending like she didn’t spend her previous evening indulging in sugary sweets and unhealthy behaviour. “That _is_ very important.”

_Yeah, great job. Super worthwhile conversation you're making here, Claire._

“I’m also a man who likes to cut to the chase,” Trent says. “I’ve spent a lot of my life in ignorance, but I think that I’d like to be blunt now. Let me take you to dinner tomorrow night.”

"Oh." Claire bites her lip, taken aback. “We just met, though!” she exclaims.

Trent looks her over. “And yet, I feel like I already know you.”

“How so?” Claire asks, meeting his gaze. The hopeless romantic inside of her kicks in. She's suddenly very aware of the soft, spring breeze around them, the floral aroma in the air, the birds chirping a tune in the distance. They’re facing each other in the middle of the sidewalk as the townsfolk bustle around them, but it feels like they're the only two people on this planet right now.

“You’re of a healthy build, perhaps shorter than average, which is quite adorable.” Trent gestures toward her small stature as she blushes again. He clasps his cold hands over hers, causing her skin to go frigid. _Yup, definitely a doctor._ “But there is such a strength to you. I can tell that you take good care of yourself, which for some reason, is always impressive.”

Claire just giggles. “It’s interesting to see people do the bare minimum, huh?”

“Perhaps you could get more Vitamin D,” he replies, motioning towards the paleness of her arms. “But I'm only teasing.”

"As if I've never heard that one before," Claire laughs. “I don’t even know you, and you’re already telling me how pale I am."

“Then let me get to know you,” Trent says. This time, he's much more firm. “I have to tell you, Claire, I’m the kind of man who doesn’t like to take no for an answer.”

“Oh." Claire rolls a stone under her heel beneath her. She's nervous, but in a giddy kind of way. He releases her hand, looking at her expectantly. Everything is happening so fast. What if she messes this up? She’s never even been on a real date before.

 _And whatever the heck I did with Gray does_ not _count._

“Is that doctor’s orders?” Claire flirts.

“It is,” Trent agrees with a smile.


	11. The First Date

Gray keeps his head down while he's at the library, in a vain attempt at avoiding any kind of human interaction. Seeing as though Claire isn't speaking to him, courtesy of their unnecessary blowout yesterday, and since he'd rather not hear Kai proclaim that it's high time he took her to the "the bone zone," Gray would like to pretend that people do not exist for a day.

He's going to go for a run, eat the entire kitchen, play some video games, and finish the night off reading. He doesn't even care if any of this makes him sound antisocial. None of those activities will give him a headache or piss him off. Can't he go one day without somebody pissing him off?

Gray picks up a relatively new Stephen King novel that he's been hearing about, turning the hardcover over in his hands. Someone rushes behind the bookshelf, running into the aisle to snatch his hat from his head.

_I guess not._

"Hey!" he whispers.

It's Ann. She drops the hat at his feet irritably. "You need to apologize!"

Gray picks up his cap, dusting it off. "Sorry that you are so fucking loud."

She steps toward him and hits his cheek. It's more like a very pathetic tap than an actual slap; Ann is all talk and no game. "Gray, I'm serious!"

"Do that again," he says. "That was so hot, it _really_ turned me on."

She glares, pointing her finger in his face. _"Why_ do you always fuck a good thing up?"

Isn't this along the lines of what his grandfather said to him yesterday? _Jeez._

Gray shrugs, leafing through his book. "That's what I do, baby."

"Gray!"

"Jesus Christ, let's hear this one."

Ann takes his jaw in her hands so that they face each other. "Why'd you lose it on Claire yesterday? Come to think of it, why do you _lose it_ on people in general?"

He moves her hands away in annoyance, bringing the book to his side. "I like how your first assumption is that _I'm_ in the wrong."

She rolls her eyes. "Claire and I were talking after my shift yesterday, and I could tell something was up, so the _first_ thing I guessed was that you made her mad."

"Wow, Ann." Gray feigns being impressed. "Do you want… a prize?"

"Gray, stop being an asshole!"

"I can't," he says with dramatic sarcasm. "It's too late for me… I'm too far gone."

Mary walks over to them with her arms crossed. "This is a library. _Please_ keep your voices _down,"_ she snaps. She looks the two of them over suggestively. "And _don't_ start having an orgy in here."

Ann scowls. "An orgy is a _bunch_ of people, Mary."

"Whatever!" she hisses, sulking away to her check-out desk.

Mayor Thomas pops his head out of the aisle. "Oh dear," he mumbles, pretending to select a book from the shelf, as though he wasn't just eavesdropping.

"Seriously?" Gray says, staring at him. Thomas just frantically picks out a random book from the shelf, which happens to be _Life of Pi_. Gray's mom used to have a copy of it on her nightstand; it came out around the time that she started experiencing her bouts of headaches. He wonders if she even got around to finishing it before she died.

Gray also wonders how his attempt at avoiding any kind of human interaction turned into a shindig at the Mineral Town library. He sighs.

"You know, Gray," Ann says carefully. "It just might be too late."

He frowns. "What does that even mean?"

Ann looks at her watch. "I'm going to be late for work."

"What does that mean?"

"Exactly what you think," she answers, knocking over an on-display book with her elbow. It falls to the ground with a loud thud. Mary extends her neck to glare.

Since he moved here, he's wondered why Mary and Ann have never really gotten along. Some sort of falling out with Mary's mother and Ann's mother, according to his grandfather (the apparent gossip connoisseur).

Gray just doesn't want anything started right now. This tumultuous season of spring has taught him that he's tired of fighting and hearing people fight.

"You're such a shit-disturber," Gray tells her.

Ann looks at him incredulously. "It takes one to know one, doesn't it?" With that, she spins on her heel, darting down the stairs of the library.

Gray picks up his book, _From a Buick 8,_ trying to shake Ann's words from his mind. _"Too late…"_ Was anything ever "too late?" The only thing that would make something "too late" would be death itself. If he wants to turn a new leaf tomorrow, run up to Claire and kiss her, he still can.

Doesn't mean that he _will._ Doesn't even mean that he wants to. Time away from that pain in his ass might be just what he needs.

Thomas has tossed _Life of Pi_ on an abandoned table, and is now checking out a different book: _Animal Farm._ Go figure. Mary scans it, happily bidding the mayor a farewell.

"See you later, Thomas!" she calls kindly, as the stumpy man rubs his moustache in response, leaving. She stares when Gray walks up to her.

"Just this," he tells Mary, averting her eyes as he hands her his library card. He keeps his focus on the shadowy cover of his book.

Mary scans it with the machine, looking up at him flatly. "This one's new. I haven't read it yet."

"Heard it's good."

"I know that you aren't interested in me," she says, tapping on her keyboard to log the book into her system. Mary pushes her browline glasses up her nose, sounding a bit nervous. "I know that you don't want to even just hook-up."

_What gave that one away?_

"And I know that you think that I'm fake-"

"I think that you're sneaky," Gray says. He's talked to enough people today. No, enough people this year. No, enough people in this _lifetime_. He's just tired of everyone. "You're timid and shy in front of the older people in this town, but around us, you're all pissy-"

"I don't see why you're interested in someone trashy." Mary gestures to the stairs, where Ann sauntered off minutes before.

"She's not trashy. You both just don't like each other. And we're not even together." Gray hastily pockets his library card. "Don't be bitter."

Mary arches her brow. "Well, it's pretty clear that you've got a thing for Claire, right?"

_Claire._

"Don't be bitter _,_ " Gray repeats, grabbing his book to leave.

Isn't he always, by default, the real bitter one?

* * *

"You look like someone from _Charlie's Angels_!" Ann exclaims. Claire smiles, doing a mock turn-around. She's decided on a chic-casual look, wearing black jeans and a ruffled red tube top. Her hair spills down her head, sleek like glass, in golden tresses.

"Um, really? I don't see it," Claire laughs, walking with Ann to her table. It's set up by the bar, with a candlestick unlit in the middle.

"Like, when they're undercover at the party," Ann clarifies. "Badass, but cute."

Claire grins, taking a seat. "Wow. Didn't realize what a sexy, private detective vibe I was giving."

Ann pulls a lighter out from her apron pocket. "As your waitress tonight," she says, igniting the candle. "I'd highly advise you tell me who'll be joining you."

Claire rolls her eyes. "You're so impatient. I told you that it's a surprise!"

"But, I need more hints! All that you told me was that he's older and really good-looking."

Claire wiggles her fingers. "This is the very element of my surprise. He'll be here any minute." Normally, she isn't one to keep secrets. But explanatory words could never do someone like Trent justice. Ann will just have to see for herself.

"Order the house pasta tonight," she says, handing her a crisp menu. "It's a rigatoni, your fave."

Claire bares her teeth awkwardly. "Then I'll get sauce all over my face."

Ann looks at her dubiously, retrieving the pencil tucked behind her ear. She taps it on her lips, as though she's trying to solve a complex math equation in her head.

"What?" Claire asks.

"Nothing."

_"What?"_

Ann shrugs. "Well, you didn't seem to mind eating pasta in front of Gray-"

 _Here we go again._ "Ann."

"Hey," she defends, holding her hands up. "I'm just saying-"

"That's very different."

"How so?"

Claire blinks. "You _definitely_ had money bet on us, didn't you?"

" _No_ , but I can't help but think that this is just a distraction to get your mind off of Gray."

"It so is not!" protests Claire. _Like I'd go to so much trouble to get my mind off of some_ _idiot._ "Using a guy as a distraction just creates a bigger distraction in itself. This is a _man_ taking me out for a romantic evening."

"Regardless," Ann says, adjusting her apron. "Don't you worry. I let Gray have it today."

"You talked to him about our fight?!" Claire shrieks, widening her eyes.

"Of course," she replies with a frown. "I cornered him at the library, like, an hour ago."

"Why?" groans Claire. "I told you that I don't even care." Now, Gray's going to get all cocky and believe that she's been thinking about him... which she _so_ has not.

"Relaaax, I didn't tell him about your date tonight. I simply _eluded_ to it."

Claire scoffs. "Whatever. I don't care if he knows."

Ann nods. "Ah, I see. The old jealousy act."

"Do you think that I'd go to such extreme lengths to make that numbnut jealous?!"

"Ha, numbnut," snickers Ann.

Claire narrows her eyes. "I would _never-"_

"Well, maybe I just kinda hoped," she says, cutting Claire off before she goes on a Gray-filled tangent.

Claire pats her napkin in front of her, focusing her mind on the date. Trent had offered to cook dinner for her at his place in the clinic, but this proposition made her a little anxious. Gorgeous or not, he is still a stranger. When she told him that she'd rather go to the inn, a look of disappointment swiped across his face, but he gladly agreed nevertheless.

"You'll see what a catch I reeled in soon," she tells Ann.

"Ugh, fishing metaphors?" Ann makes a face. "I can't wait, though. I'm working the late-shift all night, so I _will_ be watching, but I'll also be super busy serving." She walks over to the bar, pouring water into a clean glass for Claire, before handing it to her. "You better give me the juicy details tomorrow!"

"I will." Claire lifts her glass up like she's toasting the evening, bringing it to her lips.

* * *

The breadbasket is empty.

In sixty minutes of waiting, she's eaten eight pieces of bread.

Ann watches from afar as Claire stares blankly at her crumby mess. It's like her friend is lost in a carb-induced trance. She walks over timidly, raising her glass to fill it with more water.

"Don't even worry," Ann assures her. "That's nothing. One time I was waiting for Gray to… uh, um… come over, and I made like, six sandwiches." She pats at her stomach. "Want some more?"

Claire looks over at her sadly, and then averts her eyes to the table's looming candle. _So much for ambience._ This 3-wick piece of wax is making her more upset if anything. "No, thanks," she replies absently.

Ann brings a fresh loaf anyway. _Bread is not the enemy here._

Another half an hour passes, with the candle's wax slowly dripping down the chamberstick. The flame has almost wiped out. "Claire," Ann says, gently squeezing her friend's bare shoulder.

She's completely despondent. "I bet he'll be here soon."

"Maybe give him a call-?"

"I don't even know his number." Claire's voice is barely above a whisper. Ann silently backs away, taking in the hustle and bustle around her. It's packed tonight with customers, which is great for the business, but not so much for Ann's sanity. She runs upstairs to Cliff's room, knocking on his door. He answers in a light pink bathrobe.

"Um, hi," he says, cheeks burning. They've had more awkward moments than _this._ Like, when Ann's friends-with-benefits sex life was basically revealed to him abruptly. They got over it like a minor bump in the road. Cliff was actually cool about that; he's cool about everything. She'll just get over his attire.

_Maybe I'm just internally jealous that pink looks better on him than it'll ever look on me._

Ann holds out an extra apron. "I _really_ need some help waiting tables downstairs," she explains, handing it to him. "Also, I have a girl emergency." Before Cliff can protest, she kisses him on the cheek. "And then, when this is all done, maybe we can talk, or hang, or whatever."

She presses her lips together and gallops down the stairs before she can catch his reaction. Running to the kitchen, Ann grabs the entrées that her father cooked, balancing them on her arms. The aroma of delicious food wafts in her nostrils.

"Table 14 still hasn't placed an order," Doug tells her.

"I know," she says. "She'd rather just have our bread, I guess."

When Claire's total time of waiting becomes two hours, Ann isn't sure what to do. Cliff carries out the dessert trays for the surrounding tables as she plops herself in the mysterious date's chair.

"Claire," Ann says softly, reaching across to touch her arm. The candle has vanished into a low, waxy mess.

"He's not coming, is he?" Claire mutters.

"Look. Some guys are just-"

"This wasn't just some guy," Claire says, her eyes welling up. She rises from the chair, swiping her tears away. "This was Trent." Covering her mouth, she darts out of the inn with her head down.

_...Who the fuck is Trent?_

Ann runs to the bar, grabbing at the phone. A couple of days ago, Kai had to make a frantic call. _Looks like I'll be doing the same._

"Hi… yeah, it's me. I'm working all night," Ann says into the receiver. She uses her shoulder to support the phone against her cheek. "And Popuri's out with Kai. And Karen and Rick are doing wedding-planning shit. So, I need you to go get Claire. Like, find her. I dunno where she went… yes, she _was_ here… Well, I really don't give a shit about that right now. She just got stood up _big time_ … Yes, she had a date… I didn't tell you 'cause it was none of your business… _Yes,_ you being an asshole _was_ your business. Can you just go to her, please? Hello? Hello?"

But the call has been disconnected.

* * *

Gray is not doing this. No freakin’ way. No way in hell.

But he is.

He’s throwing on his jacket, tying his shoelaces, grabbing his hat... all while grumbling to himself.

“'She was on a date tonight', as if I care… but no, by all means, conveniently leave that part out when you come to yell at me… as if I care,” Gray mutters, pulling his jacket zipper up. It makes that familiar, suggestive noise, and he's once again reminded of undoing the back of Claire's dress. Gritting his teeth, he continues on his self-rant. “'Go get her'… she’s not a fucking dog. Why the hell do I have to-"

“Shut up,” scolds his grandfather, reaching into the fridge to retrieve a basket of turnips. Claire’s… stupid turnips. “Quit your fuckin' bitching, and go make things right.”

Gray shoots him a glare. Saibara has propped open a recipe book that Lillia gave them last winter on the countertop. He’s opened the page to her pickled turnip dish.

“More reason to get outta here,” Gray snaps, gesturing toward the recipe. _Can’t stand… pickled fucking turnips._

Saibara turns the sink on, lifting a turnip out of the basket to wash it. “If I knew this was grandson-repellent,” he says. “I’d make it every night.”

_11/10 for humour. Good work, old man._

“Ha ha,” says Gray, bending down to re-tie one of his sneakers. He stands up straight, exiting the front door with a slam.

When Gray passes by the inn, he notes its bright lights and tasty aroma that always emits from it. From where he's standing, he can make out the small figures of Ann and Cliff waiting on tables through the window. Gray keeps moving, walking over to Claire’s farmhouse.

It's dark outside. The full moon above him is the only thing that provides a glimmer of light on his pathway. He knocks on the door to her home, awaiting an answer. Maggie whimpers behind the door, scratching in response. He knocks again, and she begins barking loudly now. When Gray turns the knob, it loosens and opens, much to his surprise.

“Shit,” he mumbles. Maggie pries at the ajar door with her nose, pushing through the crack to fully open it. She happily jumps on Gray.

“Hi, Maggie,” he says, petting her. “Where’s your pain in the ass owner?” He lifts the dog in his arms, taking a hesitant step into Claire’s farmhouse. _Is she even here?_

“Blondie,” Gray calls, scanning the dark room. He doesn’t want to be in her house if she isn’t present. He doesn’t even want to be here at all.

Claire's clothes are sprawled around her bed, with jeans and shirts and a singular bra thrown about. Her makeup is scattered along her vanity, while the scent of perfume lingers in the air. It smells all sugary sweet like her.

 _She clearly hasn't been here all night._ Gray doesn’t want to dog-nap Maggie, but he also doesn’t want to put her back in the house, have her escape, and be the reason that she gets lost.

“Let’s go,” Gray tells Maggie. She licks his cheek in response as he makes his way to the Goddess Pond.

* * *

Claire is crying softly on the grass, listening to the waterfall's somber crash. She’s not exactly sure why she’s there and not somewhere else, but she knows that she couldn't just go home. Given that she hadn't cleaned up anything before she left, she knows that everything in it will only remind her of her date. And she doesn’t want that painful sort of prompt.

There's no twist of fate where Trent forgot about the date, or got sick on the way to it, or mixed up the times; this is just an older guy toying with Claire’s heart for no damn reason.

She shivers as she hugs her knees to her chest. Not only is she stupid for believing Trent, but she’s also stupid for not bringing a jacket tonight. Although it's getting close to summer, spring still brings a chilly breeze to the cool, evening air. The hot tears running down her cheeks feel freezing.

A loud bark erupts in her eardrums. For a moment, Claire panics, thinking that it’s the wild dogs that Officer Harris warned her about. She’s not prepared to fight anything off; she’s not even prepared to run away in these skinny jeans. But when the bark gets closer, it starts sounding more playful, like a little puppy.

Like _her_ puppy.

“Maggie!” Claire exclaims through her tears. Her dog races to her, hopping into her lap. “How did you-?"

Gray follows, his footsteps silent on the grass.

“Go away,” she snaps. Then, she squints suspiciously at him. “Um, did you steal my dog?!”

He stands over her, and she suddenly feels very, very small. “I went looking for you at your place,” he says.

_Went looking for me?_

“And I dunno if you have a death wish or something, Blondie, but you really should get a lock. Your door's practically busted.” Gray scowls at her.

“Thanks… I know,” Claire replies bitterly. “I get it. My life is in shambles.”

“Who stood you up?” Gray asks, ignoring her cynical remark.

_What an insensitive… bastard! What does it matter to him?_

“None of your business,” she snaps, pulling out the response that he used on her yesterday during their argument.

A warmth blankets her shoulders. She cocks her head to see Gray's jacket draped over her. “Are you stupid?” he snaps at her, adjusting his blue t-shirt. “It’s freezing, and you’re out here without a fucking coat.”

 _Yeah, I am stupid._ This just makes her begin to cry even more. He widens his eyes in a panic.

“Stop. I didn’t mean it like that,” Gray says, looking freaked out. He quickly takes a seat beside her. “Seriously, I didn't. Don't cry... please?” She buries her head in her hands, weeping even harder while saying nothing. Maggie maneuvers her way to the other side of her, lying beside Claire’s short legs with a whine.

“You’re wearing the pin,” Gray mumbles, staring at the little diamond cross that he crafted for her. It’s clasped near her left breast on one of her tube top ruffles.

Claire lifts her head to gaze at him through misty eyes. “I always wear it,” she says, blinking quickly to rid herself of any more tears. They keep coming though, like a faucet that's been left on for too long. What she said is the truth; she's worn the pin ever since Gray gifted it to her. Sometimes, she'll hook it to one of her bra straps, but other times, she'll accent it on the front of her outfit. She's surprised that he hasn't taken notice of this yet. “But here, have it back, since you hate me so much.” Claire tries to remove the pin, the sight of it becoming very blurry with her bloodshot eyes.

“Stop,” Gray says, in a gentle voice that she isn’t even sure belongs to him. He takes hold of her wrist, his grip strong in a non-domineering sort of way. “Don’t be… dumb. That isn’t true.”

“How is it not?” She stares at him with hurt plastered all over her face. The moonlight above bathes them in a spotlight, like they're two people acting in a Broadway show. Gray's face is twisted in confusion; he doesn't look angry like he usually does. Just worried, and maybe even a bit flustered due to her incessant crying. Claire just continues bitterly: “You think that I’m some kind of idiot. That I'm juvenile, that I'm irritating.”

 _That I got mascara smeared all over my face_.

“I don't think that," says Gray hoarsely.

"You do. It's the truth, regardless."

"Would you stop? None of that's true.” Gray's expression mellows as he unknits his eyebrows, frowning. “I’m sorry that I’m such a dick to you.”

Claire looks at him. For once, his eyes aren’t piercing into her with his every word anymore. They actually look like they've significantly softened in concernment. She just moves closer to him, burying her head into his shoulder to suppress her sobs.

_What a hot mess you are._ _Get a grip!_

But she can’t; she’s too busy spilling her guts uncontrollably. After her mom died, she never learned how to properly channel her sadness in order to cope with it. Claire’s simply perpetuating and living up to her emotionally unstable, crybaby title that was unofficially bestowed to her at the convent.

To her apparent shock, Gray wraps his arms around her shoulders, hugging her. His muscles feel like an extra layer of protection against her body as he holds her tight. Claire doesn’t even remember the last time that someone handled her with such unselfish care. Had it almost been a full decade? She isn’t sure, but this sad fact makes her weep even more.

“I’m such a loser.” Her voice is muffled against the fabric of his shirt. It smells like detergent, mixed with whatever woodsy cologne that he's got on. Claire buries her face into it further, in an attempt to stifle her cries. “I’m lonely and broken and disgusting and-"

“Blondie, stop it.”

“Why? It’s true. Why else would I get stood up?”

 _Pull yourself together, you wuss_.

But Claire can’t. It’s like she truthfully cannot bring herself to stop the waterworks. Her first date ever wasn't supposed to end in tears. She knows that this isn't the end of the world; there's obviously bigger problems, but this is something that really mattered to her. _It's upsetting to not feel good enough for someone else, much less, yourself._

She hasn’t felt this sort of sadness, the kind that leaves your eyes raw and your heart sore, in a long time. 

Gray stays quiet for a few minutes. All that Claire can hear is the whimpering of her dog, the beating of his heart, and the rush of the waterfall in the distance. Her cries have gotten more silent now, but the sadness still lingers.

“I’m no good with words,” he finally says. She doesn’t even feel cold anymore... just numb, like a junkie who hit their last fix. Claire keeps her eyes shut, listening to him. “And I don’t know a lot of stuff. I don’t know why I do dumb shit, or why other guys like your date tonight do dumb shit. I don’t know fuck all about feelings, or how to stay positive when things get bad, or how to heal from that.” Gray sucks up a breath. “But, I do know that you’re a good person. You’re pure at heart, and you don’t have a bad bone in you. You're… beautiful, on the inside out, Claire.”

She raises herself off of his shoulder, looking at him for a long time. Staring at his anxious eyes, furrowed brows, and flushed face, she throws her arms around his neck gratefully.

“Thank you, Gray,” Claire says, sniffling. The pain in her heart is still there, but it’s slowly diminishing by the minute. This is the nicest thing that he’s ever said to her... the nicest thing that she’s heard in a while. It beats the way that Trent complimented her by a landslide. “I’m so glad that I met you here. You’re a really good friend.”

Gray hugs her back, the stubble of his jaw rough against her neck. “I’m glad that I met you too, Blondie,” he replies decisively. “I really am.”


	12. The Visit

“So, what seems to be the problem?” Elli asks. A squeaky noise erupts from the sink when she turns its handle off. Her chipper tone is absent today - she sounds downright impatient. Gray just sits on the examination table in the clinic, shivering in his t-shirt.

“Don’t you freakin’ touch me with your cold hands,” he warns, voice raspy. Elli dries her hands, but walks over to him and seizes his bare arms.

“Next time, dress warmly,” she replies with a short laugh. He scoffs at her, but even that elicits a pain in the back of his throat. He winces.

“My throat hurts,” Gray tells her gruffly.

Elli clucks her tongue in response. “You know that the weather still isn’t nice enough yet to justify not wearing a jacket, right?”

“Thanks, Elli.”

Claire pushed him in a pond at the beginning of spring, and he came out unscathed. He gives her his jacket for like, an hour, and his throat starts to hurt immediately. Even though she quickly handed it back with a string of apologies after he walked her home, Gray was already starting to feel ill at that point. He doesn't _really_ care though; as long as she stayed warm.

It would seem that Gray is actually being considerate toward others. This is a concept, for sure, but he means it. Claire's wellbeing matters greatly to him; he's just pissed that it took last night to fully realize this. She's been the only thing on his mind ever since. It's like he's got tunnel vision, and all that he can see is her.

Elli rummages through the drawer beside the examination table, yanking out a stack of popsicle sticks. She pulls one out, and points it in Gray's face. “Say ‘ah.’”

“Ah.” He sticks his tongue out wide, feeling like he did as a little kid, when him and his father used to imitate the Rolling Stones’ logo in pictures. Elli stuffs the popsicle stick in his mouth. His face twists in discomfort when it hits the back of his raw throat harshly.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Elli apologizes. “I’m still getting the hang of taking uvula swabs.”

“Yuh thuck ah iht,” Gray tells her, the popsicle stick weighing down on his tongue. Given that Elli's always way too hard on herself, this is his attempt at lightening her up so that she doesn't feel bad.

Clearly, she thinks that he's just being an asshole, though. Glaring at him, she pulls the stick out of his mouth. “I bet you’ve done that to dozens of girls on purpose, _not_ using a popsicle stick.”

 _Well, maybe not dozens._ His cheeks flame.

“Chill, El,” Gray mumbles. _Why's she acting so strange?_

“You men are all the same,” Elli says, grabbing a stack of papers from the cabinet haughtily. “The doctor will see you shortly.”

“Hardy’s here?” he asks, frowning. But she’s gone.

_What's her deal?_

The door swings opens once again, yet it's not Dr. Hardy from Forget-Me-Not-Valley standing in front of him. Instead, a man wearing a head mirror bursts in, hastily clutching a clipboard in his pale hands.

Gray doesn’t believe his eyes. It can’t be.

_No fucking way._

“Grayson, right?” The man tucks his clipboard underneath his arm, extending his hand out. His hair's darker, the previous crew cut he had now grown out, and it looks like he's lost a bit of weight or had work done _(whatever)_ , but other than that, he's the same as when Gray last saw him. _With the kind of face that is just so easily punchable._ “Sorry, I have to be out the door as soon as I’m done here. I’m Dr. Trent, the new practitioner in Mineral Town.”

 _Trent? That's his name?_ Gray never actually took the time to learn his title at the hospital; he just always referred to him with a plethora of derogatory insults. He stares, still saying nothing.

The doctor shrugs, pulling back his hand to rifle through Gray’s file. “Elli tells me that your throat is sore?” He looks dishevelled, and not as clean cut-cut as he was back in Chicago.

When he still doesn’t answer, the doctor takes a step toward him, retrieving a flashlight from his pocket. He clicks the switch on. Gray just opens his mouth silently.

He pulls back, his puzzled eyes fixated on Gray. He turns to reach into the counter above the sink, pulling out a cough syrup.

“Take two doses for the next three days, morning and night,” the doctor instructs. He gives the syrup to Gray, staring at him for a very long time. “You look… eerily familiar,” he remarks absently. Gray blinks, his fist curling almost instinctively beside him. It's like there are no words left in him. He’s never felt himself so paralyzed with anger; never even been in such a state of shock before.

The doctor scribbles information down messily on a prescription slip, handing it over, quickly making his way out of the room. Gray listens carefully, hearing the front door to the clinic slam shut.

“I’ll bet,” he says with his teeth grit. “You're the reason my mother's dead."

* * *

Claire lifts her basket of crops, tossing them into the shipping bin for Zack to pick up. With summer being around the corner next week, she’s trying to make the most of all that she’s grown this season. Given that she's sort of going broke.

The strong wind whips against her face, hitting her puffy eyes that are still swollen from the previous night. Her hair starts blowing all around her as Maggie growls toward the entrance of her farm.

“What’s wrong, girl?” Claire crouches down to soothe her and brushes the bangs out of her eyes. She finds herself staring up at none other than the town doctor himself.

She just stands up straight, dusts herself off, and begins walking away from him.

“Claire, I’m sorry,” Trent says. She glares at him, putting her basket away silently. He runs over to her. “My deepest apologies-"

“Seriously, save it,” she snaps at him. “What you did was so not cool.”

He squints at her, and for a moment, raw anger blooms across his handsome face. But he shakes his head, a sensitive expression replacing it.

“That is not fair,” Trent says, pronouncing each and every consonant. Even though he does look a bit unkempt today, with his tousled raven hair and wrinkled white lab coat, he's still so beautiful. How a man could be this attractive, she’d never know.

“Well, neither is standing a girl up!” Claire blinks back tears and feels like she’s going to cry all over again. _Do not let him see you cry over him! DO. NOT._

“You’re overreacting,” Trent tells her, his voice levelled.

He _can’t_ be serious. _Doesn’t he know that saying something like this to a girl only makes things a hundred times worse?!_ “Excuse me?”

Trent shakes his head in disgust. “If you believe that a dinner matters more than people’s lives, then I truly don’t know what to say to you, Claire.”

_Huh?_

“What are you talking about?”

Trent looks her dead in the eyes. She feels like the world’s crappiest person as soon as the words escape his lips. “Elli’s grandmother fell last night. We were both tending to her for hours.”

“O-o-oh,” Claire stammers, wanting to kick herself. “I-I didn’t know. Is she okay?”

Trent narrows her eyes at her. “I don’t mean to get upset, Claire, but health will always be my number one priority over _everything._ I hope that you can understand that.”

“I do!” Claire says, a little too loudly. She looks away in embarrassment, feeling terrible. “I just thought that you were standing me up last night.”

Trent grabs her arm, his grip strong. He brings her closer to him, pulling her into a hug. “I would never even think of doing a thing like that to you.” He strokes her hair delicately, and she looks up at him in surprise.

“You’re working too hard,” Trent says, pointing at her flushed cheeks. Claire looks down, mortified.

“I apologize if I made your blood pressure rise last night. I know that you must have been unbelievably angry,” he continues, _tsking_ himself softly. “As a doctor, I worry about everyone the same, but since we met a few days ago... _you_ have been the only thing that I worry about.”

“Me?” Claire asks, eyes widening. Her heart is pounding as he tightens his hold on her in his arms.

“Of course.” Trent's gaze lingers on her. “Your overall wellbeing keeps occupying my mind, Claire.”

“Oh,” she murmurs, blushing profusely.

“I hope that this makes it better.”

And he dips her chin back, kissing her.

It's tender and sweet; not passionate, but instead, purely romantic. Trent’s lips are smooth as they press tightly against her own. Any sort of anger that Claire has harboured feels as though it's vanished, like a love spell for Trent has been cast upon her instead. She feels her heart skip a beat as she twists her fingers through his soft hair, shutting her big eyes and gently kissing him back.

* * *

Her entire afternoon is spent with Trent. They sit under the not-yet-ripe peach tree by her farm, chatting and getting to know each other more. Claire is fully aware that this was supposed to all happen before their kiss, before he left her heart racing and her head dizzy, but she digresses; this order can work out just fine, too. He's from Dallas, but did most of his training under Dr. Hardy in Forget-Me-Not-Valley nearby, and also completed a residency in the city as well. Trent discusses his mentorship with Elli on the medical field, and although she's a good nurse, he isn’t sure that can handle the mental toughness which comes with being a doctor. His speech is eloquent and intellectual; it makes Claire self-conscious of her own laid-back words.

She explains that she grew up in a church convent after her mother was killed in a car accident, and decided to move to Mineral Town on a whim. Trent tells her that he visits church to speak with Pastor Carter, his only friend in town, but has always just believed in the more science-y side of the world.

He doesn't say much regarding his family when she asks. Just that they always provided for him.

Trent sits with his spine straight against the tree, as Claire lazes back, propped on her elbows. _Even his posture is perfect,_ she laments, petting Maggie. Her dog normally snuggles up to visitors, but she's stayed close to her side the entire time, which is fine, considering that he said he isn't a dog person. She unhooks Maggie's leash, letting her chase flying dandelions around the farm.

He continues, wanting to know what she likes to do. Claire says that she enjoys trying out new recipes in the kitchen, listening to 80's music, and watching movies.

He frowns at this. “Claire, how old are you?”

_Do my answers make me sound childish?_

His tone is a bit concerning. She swallows hard. “I’ll be eighteen soon,” Claire says meekly, because she’s convinced herself that this sounds a whole lot better than "seventeen."

Trent just blinks. “Interesting.”

And then there is silence.

“I think it’s your turn!” she exclaims nervously, when he doesn’t answer back with his own age.

“I suppose that I’m a lot older than you may think.”

“Um, are you secretly a GP by day, and plastic-surgeon by night? Like, you’re injecting Juvederm by the vial?”

“I think that you mean ‘Botox,’” Trent corrects with a wink. “But you’re extremely mature for your age.” He nods in approval, and she's immediately grateful. “I’ll be twenty-six in the fall.”

Her heart flops.

She doesn’t mean to widen her eyes, but she does. Another breeze runs by her, and her body is overcome with chills. Is this the nippy feeling of another frigid, spring day, or the fact that she’s kissed a _way_ older guy?

“Oh... I’d have never guessed.”

“Does that bother you?” Trent quickly takes her hands in his, folding his palms over her knuckles in concernment.

“Should it?”

“Of course not,” he assures, squeezing her hands tightly. “I just feel like you need to be handled with such care.” He releases her with a chuckle.

Claire just laughs tensely, feeling a little hesitant to say more. It didn’t really occur to her that Trent could be _that_ much older. It made sense, given how many years it must have taken him to have his own private practice, but she's weary of herself for not thinking this through.

“Have you ever had a boyfriend, Claire?” Trent's voice breaks the tense silence.

Claire shakes her head, pieces of her bangs falling into her eyes. She brushes them away. “Never. I definitely was _not_ someone that boys took interest in.”

_Do I have to go over the whole social piranha thing?_

“I’m shocked,” Trent remarks uncertainly, as though this is hard to grasp. “I cannot even imagine anyone _not_ being infatuated with you.”

“It's true. My uniform wasn't flattering at all, and I couldn't wear makeup to school, and then I had this dorky retainer, and-"

“You are so beautiful,” Trent interrupts, gazing into her eyes like he’s losing himself in them. Every time that he catches a glance at her, it’s like he’s seeing her for the first time.

She blushes again, sheepishly looking away. _How can this guy be the entire package? Something’s gotta be off._

_… Investigation time._

“What’s your vice?” she asks him, picking a moondrop flower from the earth. 

“Well, what’s yours?” Trent takes the yellow flower from her, tucking it behind her ear.

_This guy is good, huh?_

“You’re sneaky,” says Claire. “I totally asked you first!”

“I’m very mysterious, it seems. Besides, this is doctor's orders,” Trent replies playfully. "Tell me." She gives him a quizzical look, but he shrugs nonchalantly, flashing her his perfect smile.

And it’s like she's just melting right there on the spot.

“Okay, well, I really love junk food,” Claire says.

Trent makes a face. “My arteries!” he cries out dramatically, clutching his heart.

She giggles. “What’s yours, Mr. Health-Nut?”

“I suppose alcohol. You know, something to ‘take the edge off,’ as many would say.”

“My liver!” she hollers, unsure of where to point to on her body. _Where even is the liver?_ “How is that healthy?”

“Well, a vice _is_ a ‘taboo’ habit, is it not?”

“Ugh, I guess that you’re right. I’m biased, though, ‘cause I so do not drink!”

“Oh, why is that?”

 _Here comes another way to sound like a total child._ “Well, it takes like, nothing to get me drunk. My first week here, I passed out one night from a glass of wine.”

Trent laughs in disbelief, then looks at her seriously. “Well, did you eat enough carbohydrates that day? Or participate in invigorating exercise?”

Claire gives him another curious look. “Uhh, I think that I had some pasta that day? And I was still getting the hang of all of my farm work.”

“Your enzymes just metabolize the alcohol a lot faster, given your small stature,’” he says, considering everything. “I suppose the popular terminology for this phrase is called a 'lightweight,' however, your actions that day also played a part in you getting intoxicated so quickly.” He pauses. “You know, red wine contains a plethora of antioxidants. Five ounces a day is actually quite good for you.”

 _Um, what?_ Claire tilts her head at him, smiling in disbelief. “You are _crazy_ smart. It’s actually kind of scary.” Just talking to Trent makes her feel like she understands the medical world, the way that watching _Scrubs_ does, in a way. Well, not really.

“I am also devilishly handsome,” he adds.

“Right. Couldn’t forget that one!”

“I’m teasing. What’s your _favourite_ thing to do?” Trent maneuvers his way closer to her. Claire clasps her hands in her lap, cracking her knuckles anxiously. _Hello, McFly? Are you forgetting your internal dilemma?!_ She _can’t_ fall for someone with eight years over her, right? 

But here she is, falling hard for this sharp, attractive, enigmatic _doctor._

“I guess hanging out with my new friends here,” Claire answers.

She looks down at the cross pinned to her shirt for a moment, and quickly remembers Gray. _Crap, Some friend I am!_ Before she got to work on her farm, she called the shop earlier to thank him for last night, but no one picked up the phone. She hasn’t had a chance to try reaching him again, since Trent’s been with her all afternoon.

“How nice. In my spare time, I like to practice tai chi," Trent says. "It’s like… invigorating yoga.”

“Yikes. Say that one back to yourself.”

He chuckles again. “So cruel, Claire. You're breaking my heart.”

She snickers, and Trent looks at her for a long time before wrapping his arms around her. He pulls her in close to kiss her again. This one feels more imperative than the other one, maybe even a tad urgent. Claire is glad that they’re seated, because her knees would surely be buckling at this point. He keeps her in his arms, lips firm against her own. Her toes curl, and she feels like she’s in a dream. One where it’s been forgotten that she's forgiven Trent so easily; one where he isn't almost a decade older.

 _Does it really matter?_ In a way, Claire is sort of convincing herself. _I mean, there’s lots of… couples in this world with an age gap._ She isn’t blind to the truth though; she knows that the problem lies within her _own_ age, and not his.

But to have _anyone_ interested in her, much less, someone older, someone so dashing and charming, with a successful career, is kind of exhilarating. It makes her feel wanted... and special.

Trent’s tongue runs over her bottom lip, pleading for entrance, and for a moment, her heart almost stops. _Well, you’ve done this before, haven’t you?_ Claire’s internal voice shouts at her. And she has. _Platonically,_ with her good friend.

Then, she’s reminded of that night. Is Ann or Gray going to be irritated that she’s taken back the secret date who stood her up? How's she going to explain to anyone in her group that she made out with a twenty-five-year-old doctor? How's she going to explain that she liked it? How is she even going to explain _any_ of this to _any_ body?

 _Jeez, what if Popuri or Ann ask about Gray again?_ If someone else’s mouth wasn’t on hers, she’d instinctively reach to chew on the inside of her cheek.

Yesterday marks the realization for her that Gray is actually a solid friend. There would be no _need_ to justify her feelings for Trent at all, because despite any confusion in the past, she and Gray are simply friends. And Claire's glad at that.

She pushes every worry out of her mind to allow Trent's tongue to dive for her own, sighing happily against him. Their kiss deepens, but she lets out a gasp when they part suddenly.

“I have to go,” Trent says, with his face still against hers. He pulls back gently, releasing her from his arms. This causes Claire to deflate a bit; she was enjoying their kiss _so_ much. “I’m working late tonight, but I left the clinic to come and see you.” They rise from the ground, and he lifts her chin. “I knew that I had to make this better.”

She nods, trying to catch her breath. Her cheeks feel so hot, but Trent doesn’t even look the slightest bit red. _Like make out sessions are second nature to him._

“You did,” Claire tells him, her voice soft.

“I’m glad.” He beams at her. “We need to go on a proper date.”

“I’m hanging with a friend tonight... I think,” Claire says, still panting. “But, maybe we could find some time later this week?” She's going to take a shower and check up on Gray immediately after this. 

“Girls night out?”

“Well-"

He cuts her off with a final kiss planted softly on her lips. “Wednesdays are really the only days that work for me right now,” Trent says. “I’m still getting settled in, but that’s my day off.”

Claire nods, smiling dopily. Wednesday already feels so far away, but she’s just impossibly light-headed right now, like she's stepping on a cloud.

“Goodbye, Claire,” Trent calls, waving as her exits her farm.

“Bye,” she murmurs. Maggie is finished her millionth sprint, trotting up to her quizzically. Claire just lifts her dog in her arms, walking into her house dizzily.


	13. The Stand-Up Comedy Special

Claire rings out her wet hair, nimbly parting it into two Dutch braids. She slips on a baggy t-shirt and some sweats, not feeling in the mood for any sort of denim this evening. All that bread last night made her _seriously_ bloated. She blows Maggie a kiss goodbye, throws on a jacket, and walks over to Mineral Blacksmith as the sun starts setting.

Saibara answers when she knocks, smiling as he strokes his white beard. “Claire, I told you that you don't gotta knock."

"Sorry," she says, stepping in. "It feels so rude to just open the door."

"I wish you'd teach my grandson a lesson in manners," he says, sighing. "I think that he's out cold, by the way.” Saibara jerks his thumb towards the direction of Gray’s bedroom, gripping his cane with his free hand.

Claire frowns. “It’s so early.”

“He’s ill. _Apparently_ that’s why he couldn’t work today.”

“Oh man!” Claire smacks her head, guilt washing over her. “That’s all my fault.”

“Nonsense. He’s a dumbass who coulda easily brought an extra jacket in case.”

There's an angry kick that comes from Gray’s bedroom.

“Hmm.” Saibara slowly walks over to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair for himself. This action seems like it knocks the wind out of him though, and he begins to shake. “Maybe he’s up. See if he wants visitors, Claire.”

"Do you need some help with anything?" she asks him worriedly. It makes her sad to see him tremor like this.

Saibara's blue eyes light up beneath his thick eyebrows. "You're a sweet girl, Claire. If you can get Gray to quit his bitching, then that's all I could ever want."

She makes her way to Gray’s room, knocking gently. Claire presses her ear against the door, listening for him when she doesn’t hear anything. She knocks again, and feels another kick at the door, opening it hesitantly.

He's on the floor of his room, wearing a pair of checkered pyjama pants and a blue Abercrombie hoodie. He clutches an old Nintendo controller in both hands, rapidly pressing the buttons of it, his eyes fixated on the screen. Gray’s cap is pulled backwards on his head, tufts of his hair sticking out like he's been electrocuted. His face is twisted in full-concentration mode.

For a second, his light eyes break away from the screen to look at her. “Claire?” he croaks, voice raspy.

She glances down at her feet and notices a pair of slippers that he must have tossed at the door amidst his game-playing. Claire cringes at his voice, taking a seat on the cold floor beside him. “You look-"

“Like shit?” Gray finishes. It sounds like he’s been chain-smoking his whole life.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I feel it. I sound it too.” His eyes quickly shift back to his television screen. He’s busy playing a _Super Mario_ game. Luigi runs across the screen like a flash of green, successfully passing by a series of piranha plants. He zooms through the end of the level, a star firework glowing up the air. Gray looks pleased, dropping the controller, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes. "Didn't anyone tell you that walking around with wet hair gets you sick, Blondie?”

Claire rolls her eyes. “Um, your hair was dry yesterday night, and now-” She stops herself immediately, like it's just dawned on her once again that this is all on her.

"And now I'm sick 'cause some idiot walks around with no jacket." He gives her a half smile, but then furrows his brow at her expression. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Claire looks over at him, frowning. “I just wanted to thank you again for being there for me yesterday, Gray.” She rubs her arm. “And I’m so, so sorry. It’s my fault you got sick." 

“It’s all good. I don’t care,” says Gray, with a wave of his hand. He rises to unplug his console, wrapping the thick black cord around the controller. “Paid vacation day off of work.”

“Really?”

Gray smirks. "You’re dreaming.”

Claire suddenly feels very panicky, and realizes that she isn’t ready to tell him, or anyone, about what happened earlier with Trent. She doesn’t even know how she can begin to lay it all down. Can’t she just enjoy an evening with her friend tonight, without the overwhelming thought of her premature make out session looming over her head? Her procrastinating ass figures that she can just tell him tomorrow.

“What were you playing?” she asks, in an attempt to change the subject.

“Super Mario Bros. 3.” Gray bends down to remove the game from his console. He presses on it and the game cartridge rises up with a small click.

“Looks like it came out in the 90’s.”

“’Cause it did. This console’s been here at my grandfather’s for God knows how long. I came one summer and brought it ages ago, when I was a kid. I just stayed inside and played. I don’t think that I talked to anyone my whole time here.”

“That sounds like everything someone like you could ever want,” Claire laughs. “Um, I think that you should seriously give your voice a rest and stop talking, though. Like, now.”

“Relax. I’m taking a full vow of silence tomorrow.”

“Lucky for Saibara."

“You oughta consider doing one too.” Gray pauses. “But I’m actually tired of speaking.”

“Thank God!”

“Ha ha," he says, walking over to the other side of his room. "Do you wanna watch something? I have a couple of DVD’s.”

Claire makes her way over to where he's standing, by a little bookshelf underneath a _Sports Illustrated_ poster. It's of three models with their backs facing the camera, wearing nothing but small, black bikini bottoms. She gives Gray a quizzical look and he just shrugs at her sheepishly, his cheeks turning pink.

“What do you have? Besides porn on your wall.” _Men_. Claire thinks about the fact that women seldom buy photographs of scantily clad men to hang up in their rooms.

Gray scrunches his nose down at her. “Leave me alone. It was a gift from Kai.”

 _Typical Kai._ “I'll bet.”

“Okay, I have two movies, and like, six stand-up comedy specials to choose from.” Gray holds them all out in front of her, handing her a couple.

“Wide selection.”

“I know, eh?”

Claire shuffles through his selection of films, which is the prequel and sequel to some action movie. _No thank you._ She then rifles through the comedian DVD’s, gasping at one.

“Hey!” Claire exclaims, her eyes brightening. “This guy was on _Full House!”_ She points to the cover of a much-older looking Danny Tanner, fondly remembering her days of watching that show at the convent. It was pretty clean and wholesomely family-oriented, so the nuns always entertained the group with it. She liked it so much that she’d even watch it in high school from time to time. Mostly for Uncle Jesse, but hey.

Gray grabs it away from her. “We are _not_ watching this one.”

Claire tries to reach for it back, but he holds it above his own head, making it impossible for her to retrieve it. “What the heck? Why not?”

“You aren’t going to like it, Blondie. Bob Saget’s stand-up is _really_ dirty.” Gray rubs the scruff on his chin, shaking his head with an exasperated laugh, like he’s recalling a joke from it in his mind. She snatches the DVD back when he lowers his hand.

“I understand dirty jokes,” she lies, peering at the cover.

“You one thousand percent do _not._ And it’s not just dirty. His comedy is like, fucking vile.”

“Oh, Gray, quit buggin' out. He was on a kid’s show. How bad can it be?”

It really is as bad as he said. No, it’s worse. _Way_ worse. Inappropriate isn’t even the word to begin describing it. This is _not_ the Danny Tanner that Claire grew up loving.

But, while he’s crude and foul, his comedy is so shocking, that it can’t help but be admittedly hilarious. Claire is positively dying at the routine. She almost feels bad cackling at some of the really bad jokes, but it’s too funny to not. So funny, that the she and Gray sit on the floor of his room, mindlessly watching the television while laughing in unison. She pauses a few times so that he can explain what certain… terms are? And although they're both flushed and embarrassed, they're so busy snickering together that it doesn’t even matter in the end

* * *

“I didn’t… even know that a ‘taint’ was a thing,” Claire says through giggles. “That’s so… gross!”

Gray is dying beside her, grinning so wide that his mouth hurts. In this moment, he comes to a sudden realization that he admittedly laughs harder when she’s around. How did it take him so long to grasp this?

“I cannot believe that _you_ of all people are laughing,” he says, reaching for his water to sip it. Gray isn’t even thinking about his sore throat, or his illness, or coming face to face earlier with the man that he’s fully blamed for his mother’s passing. He's sitting beside Claire, and although sick, he feels kinda happy. When’s the last time that he could actually say that? "You keep... surprising me."

Is she surprising him, or is he the one surprising himself?

“I dunno if it’s just the shock factor,” she tells him, after she’s caught her breath. “But it’s super funny.”

As the special nears its end, Claire is staring at the television screen, but Gray is busy staring at her. At her blonde hair in twin braids, at the reflection of the light in her dark blue eyes, at the smile that falls across her pink lips.

And it's only now that Gray comprehends how hard he's falling for this girl.

Has he been this whole damn time, and he’s just too stupid or stubborn to admit it? Gray thinks of when he dismissed her as a pain in the ass at their first time meeting. Or, when she cried opening up to him, and he was reminded of the anguish that he kept bottled inside. Or, when they danced together at the inn, sharing an electric kiss hours later that he _still_ can’t help dreaming about. Sure, they get under each other’s skin. But she makes him happy. How can he _not_ be falling for this girl?

Gray inwardly laments at her words last night. She had referred to him as a “good friend.” And he agreed whole-heartedly, but now he’s looking at her with different eyes and a new yearning in his heart. Despite him being under the weather, all that he wants to do is pick Claire up and kiss her.

Is he not supposed to feel this way? Would she even reciprocate the feelings back? They’re hanging out right now, the way that friends would, but you aren’t supposed to want to hold your friend in your arms and kiss her like fucking mad. Yet, Gray wants that. He wants that more than he can even begin to comprehend it. He wants his lips on hers again, her body pressed against his own, the taste of her to linger the way that it did that night.

Claire was the one who asked _him_ to kiss _her;_ was it because she found herself attracted to him too? Or was it just to abide by the rules of seven minutes in heaven, and have her first kiss with someone who knew what they were doing. Did Gray blow it, the way that he’s been blowing everything lately, by fighting with her the day after? Why does he do any of the dumb shit that he does? Why can’t he just learn to channel his pain by doing something other than holding screaming matches with people?

And she honestly believed that he hated her. Why did he continuously act like such a goddamn prick? His mother would be _horrified_ at the disaster he’s become. How can Gray confess to this girl that he doesn’t actually hate her; in fact, he might even-

 _Don’t._ _Don’t even think it._

But he does. He does, and it brings upon feelings of both liberation and fear. _Am I… falling for this girl?_

Bob Saget throws out another one liner, a filthy one about his _Full House_ co-star John Stamos, and Claire snorts when stifling her laughter. She covers her face with her hands, mortified.

“Pretend you didn’t hear that!” she cries, clenching her teeth awkwardly through her snickers.

“I heard it,” Gray says, grinning at her. And there it goes: _I might be so fucking in love with this girl, that it’s crazy._

_In his mind, he isn’t sick anymore. His throat is better, and Claire looks at him curiously until he musters up the nerve to pull her closer to him. Even though his hands are shaking, Gray dips her head back, much to her astonishment, carefully pressing his lips to hers. Slowly, she overcomes the shock, and clamours on his lap, running her fingers through his hair as the cap falls off his head. She kisses him back hard, like her life depends on it._

_He doesn’t mean for things to get rough in his head, but they do. They break apart haphazardly as he lowers his lips to her neck, planting kisses all around it. He can feel Claire’s fingers tighten against his locks, and she just moans softly._

_“What do you want, Claire?” he mumbles against her skin, and this is his favourite question to ask a girl. It’s sexy and elusive and helps him to know exactly what she-_

“Uh, for you to give me back the Danny Tanner that I grew up loving,” Claire says.

She gazes at him quizzically when Gray’s mouth stays agape at her. He didn’t just say that out loud, did he? DID HE?! Was this cough syrup that he’s been taking a secret dose of crack? _What the FUCK is WRONG WITH YOU?!_

Gray just swallows, his cheeks burning. He hopes to God that he wasn’t actually staring at her when he was thinking about their imaginary try at first base. _Jesus Christ._

His dream didn’t happen. None of it happened, except for the part that he idiotically spoke at the end, of course. City Gray would have never done this kind of embarrassing shit. Then again, City Gray wouldn’t have found himself falling so quickly in love, either.

He's almost afraid to think about what _would_ have happened if his daydream wandered further. She'd wouldn't want to have sex, which is fine, he doesn't want to do it either, given at how firm she is about her virginity. Not that they'd be put in that position. _Jeez._ He doesn’t care; he only wants to kiss her until their lips swell and their hearts race against each other.

This is kind of a first for him.

Gray feels his crotch throb, and he doesn’t even realize that his fantasy made him hard. Is it his fault for being an eighteen-year-old horny dipshit?

 _Yes,_ he thinks frantically, desperately throwing a blanket over his lap. His face feels hot and his heart is pounding. Claire looks at him, perplexed, waiting for a response. Gray just nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders in an attempt to calm himself down.

 _“You_ were the one who wanted to watch it,” he says, yawning as he watches the credits roll down the screen. His voice is wavering a bit, and he wants to choke himself. Why is it that he considers himself to be experienced, yet he gets all tongue-tied around this inexperienced girl? “I warned you, y’know.”

Claire smiles. “I guess that you did.”

 _Who asked her out? Who was lucky enough to get a date with her? And who the hell completely fucks that up and leaves someone like her waiting?_ Gray asks himself.

_A moron; a real dumbfuck._

“Blondie,” he begins, and he anxiously readies himself, searching to find the words that haven’t crossed his mind until tonight. He doesn’t think that he can recall a time when he told a girl his candid feelings, because he’s never been that kind of guy; even before his life went to shit. He’s just always maintained that the sex did all the talking he needed.

“What?”

_You’re the dumbfuck._ _Tell her!_

“Uh.” The television screen has faded to black. Although the room is dark, Gray can make out Claire’s pretty face, and he just can’t. He can’t tell her anything. Not now. “Wanna watch Dave Chappelle?”

Maybe next time Gray sees her, he’ll tell her. And then he’ll figure out why he’s become so chickenshit in Mineral Town in the meantime.

 _No._ He’ll tell Claire before she leaves tonight.

But when she smiles at him, his stomach knots. No girl has had this effect on him, not ever. Claire’s dimples mark her porcelain face so cutely, like a pretty doll. She picks up the TV remote and hands it to him. “Sure,” she says with a dorky wink.

 _Tomorrow,_ he thinks, rising to slip the DVD into the player. Gray takes a seat on the floor beside her again, and the two silently watch the screen flash with colour once again. _I’ll tell her tomorrow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it'd be funny to have Claire's perception of Full House change when Gray shows her Bob Saget's stand-up. Cuz that's exactly what happened to me LOL. Danny Tanner became forever ruined. You gotta hear some of the shit he says!!  
> I like that Gray is Claire's Urban Dictionary haha. She's gonna come out of this whole thing with a serious dirty mind. Hope that you guys are doing well and enjoyed this chapter :)


	14. The Note

“I brought soup!” Claire calls, walking into Mineral Blacksmith with a hot container in her hands. There is loud rock music absolutely blaring through a radio that Gray has set up behind his workbench. It feels like the room is shaking. He pulls his welding mask up and waves at her.

“How’s your throat?” she asks him, yelling over the loud music. Gray makes a face, motioning his hand in a way that means not so good, but not so bad either.

“I forgot,” Claire says. “Today’s the glorious day that you’re giving your voice a rest.” He removes his gloves to lower his music, poking her forehead with his middle finger. He's wearing his tan-coloured jumpsuit with his UMA hat pulled in front of his face.

Saibara smiles at Claire from the other side of the room, pulling an earplug out of his ear. “Hi, Claire. Something smells good.”

She holds up her container triumphantly. “I made chicken noodle soup! There’s enough for both of you.”

Saibara looks over at him doubtfully. “Not with how much my grandson eats.” When he turns to unsteadily retrieve two bowls from the cupboard, Gray takes this opportunity to give his grandfather the “up yours” motion with his arm. Claire shakes her head at him.

“You’re terrible,” she says with a laugh. Claire’s hair is big and unruly today, her waves wild and voluminous, probably from sleeping on her wet braids the night before. She looks beautiful, like she’s ready for... an 80’s party.

No matter how hard he's been trying, he can’t stop thinking about her. So, he’s decided that he has to tell her how he feels today. _No pussy-ing out._

Claire walks over to their tiny kitchen to ladle some of the soup into Saibara’s bowl. “I’m eating this over here,” he tells the two of them, his body tremouring as he slowly makes his way to his bedroom with his bowl. She pours the remainder into a dish for Gray, watching him bring it to the table as he quickly downs it.

“Why are you always hungry?” she asks him. He rises to retrieve a black pen and a red notebook from the kitchen drawer.

 **You make good food,** Gray scribbles down on a piece of the lined paper, ripping it from the book to hold it out to her.

“This is literally the messiest handwriting I’ve ever seen,” Claire exclaims, trying to squint at his words. He rips another piece out of paper out, writing more on this one.

**Why don’t you leave my chickenscratch alone?**

She squints again, then snickers. “I’m very sorry,” she lies. Gray takes the paper back to write underneath it. He feels his face turning red as he jots down these words, handing it to her as he turns his attention to his almost-empty bowl of soup.

**You look nice today ツ**

She smiles at him. “Thank you. What song were you playing earlier? I feel like I know it.”

He writes on another scrap, trying to be as neat as possible. **You might, it’s an old one called “Dammit,” by Blink-182.**

She leans to read what he’s written, grabbing the pen, and drawing a pathetic little cartoon of the rock and roll hand symbol. Gray snatches it back from her.

**Your drawing is shit.**

Claire arches her brow at him. “Well, your writing is shit,” she says. Immediately, her hand clasps over her mouth, eyes widening.

Gray laughs at her. **You swore! Stand-up comedy's changed you,** he marks.

She rolls her eyes and giggles, before dropping her gaze to her lap, cracking her knuckles nervously. He swallows, his throat still raw and hurting, writing these next few words.

**I have to tell you something.**

Claire cranes her neck to read what he’s written, lifting her eyes to his. “I have to tell you something, too,” she reveals, biting her lip.

Gray gestures for her to go first, beginning to apprehensively write what he cannot even bring himself to physically or emotionally say out loud. His fingers are shaking. He stares down at his new blank page, scribbling his feelings down as Claire speaks.

“So you know how, uh, that guy stood me up? Well, he… stopped by my farm, and turns out, he had a really good reason for… um, not showing up that night. So, I guess to make it up to me, he’s… he’s, um, taking me out again.” Gray slowly covers his hand over his paper, looking up at Claire. “No one knows yet, but he’s actually the doctor of this town.”

_No fucking way._

“Are you fuckin' serious?” Gray’s throat pains him even more than it did yesterday, but he doesn’t care. He feels an impossible anger boil up inside him. This cannot be happening.

She stares at him. “What?”

“Your date was with the doctor?”

Claire’s eyes go big. “Umm-”

“Jesus Christ, do you even know how old the guy is?” He clenches his jaw and stares at her, as if he’s trying to make sense of a challenging chemistry imbalance in front of him. 

“Trent’s twenty-five-"

“You must be joking.” Gray rises from his chair in disbelief.

Claire narrows her eyes at him coldly. “I’m a big girl, Gray. I can handle myself-"

“You really can't,” he snaps, rudely. He feels like he can’t even think straight. _Trent._ Did this motherfucker disrupt his life just to ruin it all over again? Any kind of romantic thought Gray previously had for Claire is being replaced with red-hot rage. “What the hell do you think a twenty-five year old wants from a seventeen-year-old girl?”

Claire chews on her cheek tensely, crossing her arms over her chest. “To be with me?” she answers uncertainly, shifting her eyes to a dusty spot on the floor in front of her.

“Yeah right, Claire. He cares about one thing, and one thing only.” Gray rises to toss his bowl in the sink, suddenly not hungry anymore. _Is this even fucking allowed? Is this legal?_ His mind feels like it’s racing at a mile a minute. He turns on the tap to rinse the bowl out, his back to her. _What does she think that a guy eight years older wants?_ Claire cannot not be this damn clueless.

“W-what?” she manages to stammer out.

Gray whirls around, leaning back on the counter to shake his head at her obliviousness. “He wants young pussy, Claire. What the hell do you think?” He doesn’t mean to be so candid and vulgar… but what the fuck does she think an older guy wants? To hold her hand and keep everything above the waist?

She glowers at him, her cheeks going red. “Excuse me?”

“You're not stupid. Ask yourself why he doesn’t just take a girl out who’s his own age.”

Claire does _not_ look happy with him. “Maybe he just likes me because he likes me, Gray,” she counters, her eyes shooting daggers at him. He really figured that he’d seen her at her angriest, but now, he isn’t so sure. She’s positively fuming at the moment. “Did that ever cross your thick skull?”

“Don’t be mad at _me_.” Gray holds up his hands in defense. They’re rough and calloused from the blacksmith work that he’s been doing, bleeding in a few of the dry cracks on his fingers. “I’m a guy, I know how we operate.”

“So then you think the same as Trent ‘supposedly’ does?”

 _Shit._ She got him there. “No. I mean, uh, well, _I_ don’t.” Why does Claire always leave Gray to struggle with his words? “But I know how guys like him are, and-"

“Why don’t you save it?” she says, turning her body away from him to let him know that she doesn’t want to hear it. “You clearly don’t know Trent at all.”

Claire isn’t wrong; he _doesn’t_ know Trent. He never thought that he’d see him again. He’d only met him a handful of times in the city, back when his mother begged the doctor for some kind of answer regarding her headaches. And when he didn’t… fucking listen, Gray decided that it was perfectly acceptable to hate a total stranger; to blame him for his greatest loss.

Despite the fact that people have told his family that misdiagnoses happen all the time, he’s fully shifted the culpability of his mother’s death on that cocky, young medical professional who did jack shit. Trent could have done more, way more than what he did. He gave up so quickly, and for that, Gray has harboured an unspeakable anger since. Hardy and Elli were the only ones who actually helped to aid his mother, and even the fact that _they_ couldn’t save her made him upset.

But he can’t even use this as a reason for Claire to stay away from this creep. It’s too filled with his own biased bitterness.

“You hardly know him either. And I think that I’ve gathered enough about him to see that he’s an arrogant motherfucker. He’s gonna sleep with you, and then leave you.” He understands enough about this doctor to know that he’s a grown-ass adult trying to take out an underage girl. How can Claire be so blind?

His words look like they’ve affected her profoundly. Claire’s expression wilts a bit, but she furrows her brows at him crossly. “Oh wow, thanks. That makes me feel good.” Irately, she walks past him to grab her dirty container, reaching over Gray to turn on the sink and wash it out. She glares up at him until he moves out of her way quickly. “Nice to see that even after everything you know about me, you think that I’d do that.”

“What?” Gray asks, his heart sinking. He didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. He forces himself to change his tone and relax when he’s addressing her. “Blondie, no. That wasn’t a jab at you. I know that you’re a really… um, good girl.” He can’t even find the right words. His voice is trembling badly, and he’s stuttering through his assertive front. Gray clears his head, focusing on his warranted hatred for Dr. Douchefuck. “It’s just, you don’t understand. Guys like him-"

“Only want one thing?” Claire interrupts, squirting a dab of bright green dish soap into her container. She scrubs at it with her bare hands using a scary amount of force. He almost takes a step back from her. “Yeah, I understand. I heard you say that already. And what, girls like me just give it up so easily?” He watches the damage that he’s done pasted across her side profile. “Screw you, Gray.”

“Claire,” he says, trying to be the levelled and calm one… for once. Her temper is just as bad as his. Gray actually didn’t even _mean_ to be an asshole this time, though. “I wasn’t saying that at all. I know that… being a virgin is important to you.” He reaches into the sink to graze her hand. She turns her upset eyes to his.

“This isn’t about my… hymen,” Claire snaps, her tone faltering. She’s clearly unsure if she’s using that word in the right context.

His face gets hot as he glares at her. “I didn’t say that it was,” Gray spits back.

“You did!” she argues, throwing her soapy hands up in exasperation. “This is about me not breaking my promise. And besides, I’m sure you’ve broken… hundreds.”

“Of promises?”

“Of… hymens!” she screams, scrunching her freckled nose at him.

 _Isn't that a myth? Hymens can't 'break'... don't they stretch out or something?_ He looks over to see Saibara opening the door to his room, immediately closing it with an unreadable expression after he hears Claire's words.

_So much for staying calm._

“I have not,” Gray barks, and now he’s mad at her all over again. Evidently, he’s not the only one who says dumb shit.

“Why don’t you just stop passing judgement on Trent?”

“Yeah, like I'm the judgemental one here. _”_

“Oh that’s hilarious, Gray. You are so judgemental it isn’t even funny.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Why don’t you just take my word for it?” she asks, drying her hands on one of the tea towels by the stove. “Why can’t you accept that I’ve found a really sweet, mature guy?”

“Because,” Gray answers lamely.

“Because?”

“Because…”

_Because I love you._

Of course Claire would go for the handsome, successful doctor, the moron who didn’t know a fucking diagnosis if it hit him in his pretty boy face. “Because I don’t want anything to happen to you. You... you need to be careful,” he finally finishes, bringing his cap over his face in embarrassment.

“It's a date, Gray. I’ll be fine,” she says, fatigued and exhausted from their fighting. Claire takes her container, holding it with one hand against her hip. “I’d better get going.”

She doesn’t even look angry anymore; just tired, and maybe even a little bit confused. Has he lost her for good?

 _Well, she’s not mine to lose._ Claire doesn’t belong to anyone, but has this doctor already won her over? Is Gray too late? Why is it all happening like this so fast?

Every impulse to kiss Claire and tell her that he’s in love with her is quickly substituted with an urge to keep her away from the creep that's eight years her senior. She’ll realize after getting to know Trent more that their age is way too spread out, and Gray will finally be able to confess his feelings without backing down.

But what does he even have? Doesn’t this doctor hold triumph over him in every way possible? Gray is only Claire’s friend; her _good_ friend that she must have thought would willingly listen to shit like this. How can he hear about her lovingly defend some other guy, when he's completely fallen for her himself?

“I’ll see you later,” Gray says quietly, a lump of pain forming in his throat. He inwardly grimaces. “Thanks again for the soup.”

She offers him a sad smile and a wave, exiting Mineral Blacksmith with her head down.

 _Someone had to be honest with her, right?_ The way that he sees it, Gray wasn’t being a prick at all. Well, maybe a little, but he’s only looking out for Claire’s wellbeing. He sighs, going in to his room to take another dose of his cough syrup before getting back to work.

* * *

Saibara frowns, glancing around the empty room after the pair’s yelling match has subsided. He walks over to the kitchen table, the opened red notebook staring back at him. Lifting it curiously to his face, he examines the messy words scribbled out on the paper in black ink.

**~~I think that~~ I’m falling in love with you, Blondie.**

That’s his grandson’s calligraphy, no doubt. Saibara gingerly rips the page out, tucking it away in his sweater pocket. He carefully closes the red notebook, placing it back in the kitchen drawer. Gray lumbers out of his room, returning to his workbench, blasting the loud rock music once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not here to hate on age gaps!!!! Like, if Claire was 28 and Trent was 35, cool whatever. But that's not the case. This is just CREEPY. We've got two people at two very different stages in their lives. Teenagers are still learning how to be independent and go about their life, while a person in their mid twenties has already had a foot in figuring it out. Claire's still underage, heck, at seventeen I was just a kid (and VERY naive and didn't always make the best decisions), so she doesn't get that Trent's taking advantage of this. There would also be a power imbalance, no doubt, not to mention the fact that she's clearly easily manipulated by the throes of a first relationship and thinks that she's mature enough to handle what could potentially get thrown at her. Remember when Miley Cyrus was 15 and Jesse McCartney was 21 and they were flirting and her dad told him to stay away... I'll never forget that, man that was fkn weird
> 
> Anyway Gray isn't wrong thank you all for coming to his Ted Talk


	15. The (Second) First Date

“Gray is such an ass,” Claire says, drumming her fingers on the table in front of her impatiently. It’s been two days since their latest blowout, and she’s still exhaustingly mad. “He always thinks that he knows _everything_.”

Ann gazes at the shine in the tables, her frowning reflection staring back at her. “I just wiped that,” she says, swatting Claire’s hand away to polish the spot again.

“A total and complete jerk!” Claire exclaims, ignoring her. “Like, can’t he just get off my back for once?!”

“Jesus, what exactly did he say?” Karen asks, seated at the table across from them. Popuri stands next to her, papers scattered around them in disastrous, messy piles. They’re busy drawing out the floor plan for Karen’s wedding next week.

Claire's face gets hot. “That guys like Trent only want to get…” She looks away, too self-conscious to finish.

“…Get?” Popuri asks expectantly.

“Get in my panties.” She doesn’t even want to repeat his real words out loud. Why does he have to be such an unrefined piece of crap?

Karen looks at her dubiously. “Oh, come on. Gray must have said more than just _that_.”

Claire chews on her cheek. “Uhm-"

“He probably told you that this guy just wants your pussy,” Ann guesses, her brow arched.

Claire looks away awkwardly. “Yeah, you hit the nail on the head there.”

“That does sound like something he’d say. Just don’t take it so personal,” Karen replies. She’s halted her concentration from her paper for a moment, shrugging at Claire and tossing her dirty blonde highlights behind her. “Gray’s got a _really_ bad way of showing that he cares.”

Claire scowls. “He’s probably the biggest hypocrite I’ve ever met.” It was almost comical to hear him talk about “the only thing that guys want,” while proclaiming that he was a special snowflake who didn’t think that way at all. _Some friend... he’s such a phoney jerk!_

The girls sigh at her, not ready for another Gray-filled tangent.

“I’m changing the subject, so you’re all welcome in advance,” Popuri says with a giggle. “When do we get to meet this doctor?” She walks over to throw a scribbled sheet in the wastebasket by the bar, stopping to jab Claire with her elbow.

Her eyes shine brightly. "Soon,” she responds dreamily. “ _I’m_ actually seeing him in a couple of hours at the clinic, and then we’re coming down here together.”

“Hopefully there’s no medical emergency tonight,” Ann mumbles, scrubbing unnecessarily hard at the already-pristine table. Her actions seem incredibly aggressive.

Karen makes a face. “I dunno, Claire. You may not wanna hear this, but I think that Gray might have a point.”

Claire scowls. “Don’t tell me that you’re on his side!”

“As if! Look, I'm just saying, you're super young. Isn't it weird for a guy that much older to be taking you out?”

Ever since Gray popped this thought into her head, Claire hasn’t seemed to rid herself of it. But the people who doubt Trent are totally wrong in her eyes, because they don't know how sweet of a guy he is.

“Honestly, I'm still not sure how to feel about it all, but he's just so incredible. I mean, he said that I was beautiful, and smart, and even mature for my age.” Claire clasps her hands, absentmindedly gazing at the ceiling in awe.

Ann blinks. “Doesn’t saying ‘mature for your age’ mean that this guy _knows_ you’re too young for him?” She puts her hands on her hips, waiting keenly for an answer from Claire.

What a buzzkill. Claire groans. “Look, take my word for it. Once you guys meet him, you’ll see how romantic and perfect he is.”

Does it still worry her that Trent is twenty-five?

Sort of.

But how could _anyone_ fake that much charisma and kindness? Her friends would just have to see Trent’s charm for themselves.

“Well, the way he came to your farm to ‘fix the problem’ sounded like total gaslighting to me,” argues Ann, wiping at a bead of sweat on her forehead with the back of her hand.

But Claire doesn’t hear her; she’s already on her way out the door.

“Later!” she calls, snatching her knapsack from the chair beside Popuri. She runs toward the inn doors to ready herself for the date.

“Don’t forget about my wedding rehearsal tomorrow at church!” Karen shouts. Halfway out the door, Claire turns to nod at her in understanding, before leaving

* * *

“Is it bad that I’m still rooting for her and Gray?” Ann asks, staring absently at the door. When she saw Gray yesterday after work, he looked as though he couldn’t care less about the whole situation. But she's well aware that this is a complete front.

 _“Yes,”_ Popuri says, tossing one of her many pink curls over her shoulder. “Those two are a disaster, and you know it.”

But Ann _doesn’t_ know it. _There’s no way that some appealing doctor in his mid-twenties could be a better fit for Claire than the cynical, temperamental, anti-social blacksmith next door_.

She then repeats this sentence back in her head over and over, inwardly face-palming at how obviously wrong she is.

But Claire and Gray’s chemistry is undeniable. _How can they both be so impossible?!_

“They better find a way to be civil again,” Karen remarks, examining her fuchsia nail polish casually. “'Cause they’re partnered to walk down the aisle together for my wedding.” She shrugs, a coy smile playing on her lips.

Ann smiles at her friend. “Practice tomorrow’s sure gonna be interesting."

* * *

Trent really is everything that Claire described him as, and more. Ann takes note of this immediately as they walk into the inn later on that evening. He holds the door open for her like a gentleman, and offers to hang up her jacket immediately upon entrance. Ann watches Claire’s eyes dart toward the coat check closet for a brief moment, but her gaze quickly returns to her date in front of her.

“Hiya, Claire, who’s your friend here?” As if she doesn't know. Ann adjusts her apron as she walks over to them.

“Ann, this is Trent,” Claire says, gesturing towards her date. The doctor is also as handsome as Claire described, too; Trent looks like he just stepped off a male-fashion runway. He wears a crisp button-up shirt with a mustard-coloured sweater vest on top, and a pair of nice slacks. Weirdly enough, he still has a stethoscope strewn around his neck, though. Can Ann count this as an internal strike against him?

“I’ve heard so much about you, Ann. It’s wonderful to meet you,” Trent says in a surprising Southern drawl, closing his hand over hers. _Why are his hands so damn smooth?_ Is this another strike?

_Maybe I’m just being too critical._

“You as well!” Ann replies, trying to be as polite as possible without her eye twitching. He looks like the kind of guy who really cares about his appearance; the kind that doesn't like to get his hands dirty. She feels so unkempt next to him. “Let me seat you two.” Leading them to their table in front of the bar, she ponders. _Sooner or later, I'll find something wrong with him, right?_ _I normally has a knack for that kinda stuff._

Claire seems shocked to see Popuri and Kai, as well as Rick and Karen, eagerly seated on the bar stools in front of her. “Hi guys!” she exclaims, her voice filled with disbelief. “What are you _all_ doing here?”

Did Ann forget to tell Claire that she’s gathered some watchful scouts for tonight, too? How foolish of her.

“Drinking,” admits Kai, cheers-ing his glass in their direction. “How’s it going?”

Claire chews on the inside of her cheek, the way that she does when she’s nervous. “Um, this is Trent, everyone. Trent, this is Kai, Popuri, Karen, and Rick.”

“We’re Claire’s spies,” says Karen, downing back the shot in front of her.

“She’s kidding,” Rick assures, gingerly sipping on his almost-empty glass of water.

“She's really not,” Popuri chimes in.

The doctor nods, smiling at them. “Nice to meet you all.” If he’s annoyed by their unexpected presence, he definitely isn’t showing it. Trent lovingly pulls out Claire’s chair for her before she sits down. She gives Ann a baffled look, which makes her realize that this form of spying is far too abrupt and will never work.

“All right, enough terrorizing these two… lovebirds. Let’s get you all seated,” Ann says, motioning for the group to get off of the stools. Despite there being tons of room to sit elsewhere, due to the inn being completely empty tonight, she still puts her friends relatively close to Trent and Claire’s table. She considers this to be very cunning of herself, even though it really isn’t.

Ann scrutinizes their date all night, secretly eavesdropping the entire time. She checks in with her friends, and they each relay the same information: that Trent is impossibly normal. He orders a normal salad with a glass of wine for dinner, eats like a normal person, and laughs with Claire normally. Periodically, Ann watches him reach across the table to touch her hand tenderly. He seems as respectful and sweet as Claire painted him out to be.

_What is your problem? Can’t you just be happy for your friend?_

No. She can’t. How can she, when Gray isn’t the one seated across from Claire tonight?

Ann trudges over to fill up Claire’s water glass once more. She asks Trent if he wants a refill on wine, but gives him one anyway, before he has time to respond. _Maybe that’ll make him a little less boring._

Before the two bid everyone a goodnight, Trent places some money on the table when Ann brings the bill. She hears Claire offer to chip in for the tip, and he actually agrees. _The nerve!_ Can she count _that_ as a strike, along with Trent’s refusal to touch any carbs during dinner? _He actually asked for his salad without croutons!_

Albeit, these strikes are all small and miniscule. Just like her patience for this evening

* * *

As Trent walks her home, he laces his fingers through Claire’s. “I had a wonderful time tonight.”

Even the look on her friends’ faces told Claire that they seemed impressed with Trent, too. Everyone but Ann, who appeared as though nothing phased her all night. On the way home, the two walk past Mineral Blacksmith, and she guiltily realizes that she still has yet to introduce Gray to Trent.

Part of her misses seeing him these last couple of days. Now that she had established their friendship, being away from him due to their incessant fighting doesn't exactly sit well with her. From where they're standing, Claire watches a light flicker on and off in what she knows to be Gray’s room.

 _Is the jerk spying now too?_ She picks up the pace forcefully, not realizing that she has let go of Trent’s hand in the process.

“Slow down!” Trent exclaims. “Are you that eager to end our evening?”

“What?” Claire asks, as if she's lost in a daydream. “Oh, no. Of course not! It’s just, I have long day ahead of me tomorrow.” She thinks about Karen’s wedding rehearsal, realizing that she’ll have to get up extra early to complete her farm work in order to make it there on time.

“I suppose that means I won’t be coming in?” Trent’s voice sounds a tad disappointed.

Oh man, did Claire just hurt his feelings? She prepares to lighten the mood with a sprinkle of her awkward humour. “What are you, a vampire who like, needs to be invited inside?”

“You always manage to see right through me,” Trent chuckles. “Another time, then. We’ll do my place next.” Standing before her front door, he plants a kiss that lingers on Claire's lips for minutes on end. Drawing her closer, his hand snakes against her small waist before it hesitantly lowers. Claire’s eyes fly open, but she says nothing. _It isn’t so bad, to be touched like this_ , she thinks convincingly. _To be pulled this close to another person... to feel them against you._ When has she ever been touched in this sort of way? Her heart pounds heavily in her chest, head dizzy with a million thoughts.

“Goodnight, Claire,” Trent says, with his smooth face still against hers.

“Night, Trent,” Claire murmurs, kissing him again to preserve the evening from ending

* * *

Ann reaches into the pocket of her overalls, retrieving the spare key that Gray had left in her room weeks before, during one of their many late-night rendezvous. It’s past midnight, and she’s standing in front of Mineral Blacksmith, inserting the key into the front door lock. _Is it breaking and entering if I’ve got this?_ Noiselessly marching inside, Ann makes a quick beeline for Gray’s room, knocking gently.

“Good thing you bust through my front door, but got the manners to knock on the door to my room.”

_Well, at least his voice sounds a lot better._

Gray is standing in the tiny kitchen diagonal from his room, wearing a pair of pajamas while clutching a bowl of cereal in his hands. He places it down gently on the counter beside him in attempt to not make any noise, wiping any milk residue on his face with the back of his hand. Ann dangles the key in his face, and he grabs it from her hastily.

“What are you doing here?” he asks quietly. She just squints at him.

When Ann doesn’t answer, his cheeks turn pink. “Um, o-oh. I thought… I mean, I didn’t think that you still… Look, _I_ don’t even want to, to be honest. And what about Cliff-?"

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she finally says in annoyance, holding out her hand. It’s been a long night, but Ann needs to get her message across. Through the moonlight, Gray’s face looks relieved. She walks over to the kitchen cupboard, pulling out a bowl for herself, gently pouring herself some of the _Cinnamon Toast Crunch_ that’s been left out. Her stomach grumbles hungrily; she hasn’t eaten since before her shift. “I’m definitely not here for that.”

“I see. You’re here for my cereal.”

“ _No_ , Gray,” Ann says, picking up a piece of the dry cereal with her fingers, popping it in her mouth. Gray quizzically gestures toward the milk that’s on the counter, but she shakes her head in refusal. “This is about Claire.”

He looks away bitterly. “I saw her walk by, tonight. She and the doc make a cute couple, huh?”

“Gray, despite all of the fighting that you two do, I know that you really care about her.” Ann treads lightly, before saying: “Why don’t you tell her how you feel?”

He shoots her a glare. “Why don’t _you_ stay the fuck outta my business, Ann?”

“There are ways to go about things, and you don't know how to, _at all._ ”

“Why don’t you leave me alone?” Gray groans. He picks up his bowl again, angrily shovelling the spoon into his mouth. “Claire likes me only as a friend, and that’s it. Actually, scratch that. I’m convinced she doesn’t even like me at all anymore.” He says this with a mouth full of cereal, exuding the true aura of a perfect gentleman.

“Well, you just keep giving her shit.”

“I was looking out for her.”

Ann makes a face, swallowing her bites of dry cereal. “Look, Gray, I don’t get a good vibe from this guy.”

His ears seem to perk up a bit. He places the spoon gently in the sink beside him, sipping from his bowl to finish the remnants of milk. “Why, what’d he do?”

“Nothing, that’s the thing! He’s perfect in every aspect.”

Gray groans again. “Well, that’s just super.”

“I mean, he might be a cheap-ass. And I think that he hates bread.”

“Kai said that last part, too. Can’t relate.”

“Don’t you miss Claire?” Ann asks suddenly, like a police officer interrogating a suspect. “Don’t you hate being away from her?”

“Of course I do,” he answers haughtily, as if this is an obvious question.

“Why?”

“Because.”

"Because?"

"Because..."

“Because you love her, Gray.”

He turns away, rotating the knob on the sink attentively, a trickle of water spouting out. He rinses his bowl, careful not to make any noise. “I've never been in love before. What makes you so sure?"

It hurts Ann to say this: "I see the way that you look at her. It's like... your eyes light up, and you just, I dunno. You seem so happy when she's around."

Gray shakes his head. "What does it matter? Claire’s just my friend. Nothing more.”

“If you have feelings for her-"

“Ann, even if I did tell Claire, how could I ever compete with this douchebag? You said it yourself: he’s perfect."

“But he’s not though!” Ann protests, feeling her voice get a bit too loud. She doesn’t want to wake up Saibara and have him think that something is still going on between the two of them. “I mean, he’s _too_ perfect! He’s definitely hiding something.”

“You could say that again.”

She frowns. “Huh?”

Gray turns the sink off, taking a seat at the kitchen table. Ann plops herself in the seat across from him, pushing her dry bowl of cereal off to the side. “Do you remember once, when I told you about a young doctor in my city who wouldn’t give my mom an MRI?”

Ann contemplates this for a moment, before affirming his words. “Yeah, the one who just kept prescribing painkillers or something?”

Gray nods, saying nothing. He stares at a spot on the wall across the room for a few minutes.

She widens her eyes in realization. “Oh my God.”

“Yup.”

It’s like there's a revelation in front of her very eyes. “It was him? It was Dr. Trent? That was his name?!"

"I didn't even get to know his name back in the city. I didn't give a shit... I never thought I'd see him again." Gray rubs his jaw. "And then he fucking moves here. I mean, what're the odds?"

"Gray, why don’t you tell Claire?!”

He stares at her; not angry or anything. He's just wearing an impossibly sad look on his face, like he’s reliving his pain all over again. “What does it matter? She didn’t even know my mom, and she’d probably just mistake it as an excuse for my jealousy. Plus, people told me to not hold the bastard accountable, ‘cause apparently it 'wasn’t his fault.'”

“Of course it was!” Ann cries, her heart seized with anguish. She thinks of her own mother, taken too soon from her as a child. If her mom died due to medical neglect, she'd harbour a hatred for whoever was responsible, too. “I _knew_ that something was off about him!”

“Well, besides his inability to diagnose properly, he’s also dating a fucking minor.”

They sit there without a noise erupting from either one of them.

“What are you gonna do?” Ann finally whispers.

“Nothing,” he answers resentfully. She wonders if this is code for: _Love her from afar, but say nothing because of the circumstances._ Wouldn’t this be a great injustice to not only him, but Claire as well?

“That’s shit,” Ann argues.

“That’s life,” Gray says with a shrug. Then, he pauses. “I tried to warn her about dating someone that much older. And if this guy hurts her, I’ll break his fucking face. I swear to God. But at the end of the day, if he makes her happy…” His voice trails off dejectedly. “I just want her to be happy.”

“Despite everything, I think that she’s most happy around you, Gray.”

He smiles sadly. “Then I guess Claire can make that decision on her own.”


	16. The Rehearsal

When she steps out of her house to take Maggie out, Claire doesn’t expect to see him.

She doesn’t expect to see him _running._

Of course, Maggie speedily darts after him across the farm, like he’s carrying around a thousand treats in his pocket just for her. The leash follows like a red ribbon in the air, as her dog darts after him.

_Why does she like him so damn much?_

“Maggie!” Claire shouts groggily, sprinting after her.

Gray turns when he hears her voice projected across the field. He then notices Maggie, who’s completely caught up to him, at his feet. He pauses by the bridge past Claire’s farm, lifting the small dog up in his arms.

“Hi, Maggie,” Gray says, scratching behind her ears. Maggie licks his cheek, panting happily. He smirks. “And _only_ Maggie.”

It’s too early to be awake, much less, to talk to anyone else. Claire yawns, rolling her eyes. “You are just… _so_ funny, Gray,” she replies flippantly. Mornings really bring out the worst in her. “Why are you up so early?”

Gray pauses to catch his breath, wearing a slate-coloured muscle t-shirt and some _Nike_ shorts. His tank is dark with sweat stains, and he removes his hat to wipe off the moisture from his forehead. “I dunno if you know this, Blondie, but I get up at 5:30 like, every morning.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “You do _not_.”

“I do. Thursdays and Sundays are the only days that I get to sleep in.” He stops, then chuckles. “’Till 12.”

Claire nods, considering it all. “What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like? I’m working off some late night cereal.” He places Maggie down, his breath regained, pinching comically at his slim stomach. Her dog whimpers, as if begging for Gray to pick her back up again. The sun is beginning to rise, bathing the three of them in a warm orange cast. In this light, Claire really notices the shadow of the muscles on Gray’s arms. His biceps look way more prominent than they did the first day that she met him.

“I didn’t know you run,” Claire says. “I thought that you only run… from your problems.”

Gray nods. “That was a _really_ good one, Blondie. How long did it take you to come up with that?”

 _Well, it’s true_ , Claire thinks with a _hmpf._ Her cheeks feel hot. “How are you feeling?” she asks, rocking back on her heels as a gentle breeze flies past both of them.

“Hmm? Oh, better.”

“I’m glad,” Claire says, hoping that she isn’t being too awkward. She’s not angry with him anymore; in fact, she doesn’t really know how to feel. Maybe the other day he did actually mean well, like Karen said, but she doesn’t need some hypocrite looking after her. “That’s good.”

“Yeah, it is.” Gray stares, as if contemplating her. “Do you need something?”

 _So much for trying to be nice._ “Excuse me?”

He unknots the usual pissed-off expression on his face. “I meant if you needed help on the farm… or whatnot,” Gray clarifies, softening his words.

“ _No,_ I don’t. Thanks, though.” _Like I said, I can take care of myself._

“Are you gonna join me on my run?”

His question surprises her. Claire can’t help but bark out a laugh. “Uhm, are you nuts? I’ll pass.” Gray watches her curiously, making her feel the need to further explain. “I really don’t run."

“You didn’t have to tell me that one.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Face it, you’d probably trip on your own two feet.” He gestures toward her shoes, smirking.

“That’s not true,” she protests, sounding incredibly bitchy. She didn’t mean to come across like that. Gray just holds up his hands in mock-fear.

“Jeez, I don’t like ‘Morning Claire.’”

She hugs her arms around her, looking down at the ground. “Sorry, I didn’t sleep well,” she mumbles. Since moving to Mineral Town, her dreams have been tender and sweet. As someone who used to suffer terribly from nightmares, Claire felt relieved to finally be free of them. Until last night, when she dreamt of a shadowy figure with a million hands grabbing at her. She couldn’t escape from its grasp, until her alarm clock thankfully interrupted the terror.

Gray looks her over dubiously. “I thought that you would have, considering you seemed to have a nice evening.” The immediate change of expression on his face tells her that he instantly regrets these words.

Claire rubs at her temples irately. “Oh, you were spying on my date last night, too?”

She can’t tell if Gray’s face is flushed from the physical activity, or her comment. Maybe both. “ _No,_ ” he snaps. “I have better things to do.”

Claire groans. “Oh please, Gray. You are _so_ annoying.”

“So are you,” he says with a scowl. “You know what, I’m _glad_ that you aren’t coming with me on my run.”

“Yeah? Well I’m glad too.” Claire huffs in irritation. “C’mon, Maggie.” She motions for her dog to follow, but Maggie lies on the patch of grass in front of Gray, rolling over, waiting for her stomach to be rubbed. Gray crouches down, scratching her, before looking up at Claire with his brows raised. The little silver barbell against his left eyebrow glints in the light.

“Want me to take her with me?” he offers, as Maggie playfully kicks her feet out.

Claire doesn’t hide her surprise. “Isn’t she going to bother you while you run?” _Is he being helpful… and somewhat nice, because he feels bad?_

“Nah,” Gray says, with a shake of his head. “It’ll be nice company.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna run and then do some other training before work, so I’ll bring her back.”

“What other training?” Claire asks, sounding intrigued.

“Solo stuff,” he answers, positioning himself in a fighting stance. He readies his fists like he’s about to brawl, punching out in front of him. Claire just snickers.

“Okay, well, if you say so. See ya,” she calls, bending down to pat Maggie’s head. Giving Gray a wave, she makes her way toward her field with her back to him.

“Later, Blondie,” he yells back.

She turns around one last time, watching him clutch Maggie’s leash. “Thank you, Gray,” Claire says. He gestures at her with a small smile, exiting the path.

* * *

He sprints quickly, his sneakers hitting the road in front of him, feeling exhilarated. Gravel crunches under his feet, the sound like a symphony. One thing that he loves about not living in a city is the liberation to run. Whenever he tried jogging around in Chicago, it always felt so crowded. Someone was always having a yelling match with their significant other on the sidewalk, and drivers kept dangerously running red lights. But here in Mineral Town, he’s got the space, the peace, and the fucking quiet. The community itself is just waking up now, and he feels truly unrestricted. Maggie runs beside him, keeping up with Gray’s pace just fine. Her tongue is out, as though this is just as freeing for her, too.

He passes by Karen’s family supermarket, remembering her stupid marriage rehearsal later on this evening. Gray is still surprised that he and Kai even made it into the wedding party, considering that Rick hates Kai’s guts, and Gray is associated with him by default. He then runs by the clinic, and nearly bumps into Elli exiting the building.

“What are you doing up so early?” Gray asks loudly as he runs past, jogging on the spot. It’s like she doesn’t even notice him, though; Elli looks bleary and exhausted. He shrugs it off, doing another lap past the Goddess Pond. When he runs by the inn on his third lap, he glances at the clinic, but Elli is nowhere in sight. From where he's standing, he watches the clinic doors open once more, with the fucking doctor walking out of them.

Trent catches him peering from beside the inn, nodding in his direction. He just gives him a scowl, not caring about being rude at all. When the doctor looks down at Maggie, and then back at him, like he’s doing a double-take at the two of them, Gray can’t help but smirk as he runs along by. _Does he know that this is Claire’s dog?_

_I sure fucking hope so._

* * *

“You’re _late,”_ Karen snaps, shooting a glare down the front of the church. She stands by one of the middle pews, tapping her converse against the vermillion-carpeted floor impatiently. Claire, Ann, Cliff, Kai, and Popuri are all sitting in their pews, whirling around to face Gray.

“Whoops,” he says, completely unapologetic. “My bad.”

Kai walks over to a pew in the very back, motioning Gray over. “Psst, c'mere. I'm bored outta my mind."

Popuri cocks her head to shoot Kai a glare. Pastor Carter at the front doesn’t look too impressed either.

Rick maneuvers his way beside Karen to pipe his voice up. _“See_ , Karen. You should have _never_ let him be in the wedding party.”

Gray stands at the back of the church by the entrance, jutting his hands in his pocket. Claire notices that he's wearing his tan-coloured uniform jumpsuit, which means that he's come straight from work. “Alright, sorry. I’m here now.”

“Go sit beside your partner,” Karen says, pointing at Claire and gesturing towards her pew.

_Partner?_

He walks over to the pew, seating himself next to Claire. She just keeps her eyes fixed forward. Even though it’s not a real mass, she’s never liked people strolling in to church late.

“What is this?” Gray finally asks, appearing unphased. 

“You’re walking down together,” Karen answers.

Rick notices the surprise on both of their faces, groaning at his fiancée. “Karen, didn’t you tell them?”

She waves her hand. “Whatever. What’d they expect?”

 _I mean, she has a point, but she could have let me know,_ Claire thinks to herself, wondering if this prospect will make Trent jealous. But Gray is someone that she hangs out with (when they're not at each other's throats), so it shouldn’t even matter if they’re partnered up for a bridal party. _Is Trent even going to be invited to this wedding?_

“Okay, Ann and Cliff, go to the back of the church and walk down together.”

“Hosanna,” Gray whispers to Claire, leaning in to her. She gives him a look of disbelief.

“Hosanna? _That’s_ how you greet someone at church?”

He looks confused. “What’s the problem?”

“Uh, for starters, it isn’t Palm Sunday.”

Gray wears a smile on his lips. “I honestly don’t remember the last fucking time I went to church.”

Carter glares from the front, his usual cheerful expression wilting. He definitely heard that. “Even though an official mass is not being conducted, this is _still_ a house of God, Grayson. You should not be swearing in church.”

“My bad, sir,” he apologizes hastily.

“It’s ‘Father,’” she corrects quietly. “And that serves you right!”

“Um, isn’t this a home of forgiveness?”

Claire huffs. “Ummm, you aren’t even sorry.” He just shrugs at that smugly. “And I’m surprised that you didn’t burn when you walked in.”

Gray gives her an ambiguous look. “Hey, we both laughed at that stand-up comedy routine. You’re going to hell just as much as I am.”

The noise of a door opening erupts from the entrance of the church, but she keeps her gaze lowered to her hands clasped neatly in her lap, stifling a snicker. She reaches for his cap, pushing it off his head. “You know that you can’t wear a hat in church, right?”

Gray reaches back for it. “Oh, just watch me.”

“Okay, Claire and Gray, your turn,” Karen says.

He stands, extending his hand to her. And she takes it willingly.

* * *

Trent is gawking from the entrance of the church at Claire, his Claire (well, not his yet but technically his), laughing in the pews with some guy. It’s the punk who had that sore throat a couple of days ago; the one who was out running with her dog early this morning. The guy is whispering something in her ear, and she just looks at him in disbelief before bursting out in giggles. _What's so funny?_ _And why did he have Claire's dog this morning? Were they together?_

The waitress from the inn is walking down the aisle, clutching her ponytailed partner. She glances at Trent, before averting her gaze back forward. It’s like she’s the only one who notices his presence. Claire sure doesn’t.

Claire then admonishes the guy beside her, removing his hat. _What kind of a bum wears a hat in church?_ He grabs it back flirtatiously, and suddenly, they get called up by the bottled-blond who works at the supermarket for their turn. The guy beside Claire extends his hand, and she takes it without hesitation. She just freaking takes it, adjusting herself to grab his elbow as they walk toward the back of the church.

It almost makes him feel as though he's able to justify his previous night's actions. It's like he can simply justify... everything.

Claire notices him in his little corner immediately. “Trent!” she exclaims with a grin, clearly happy to see him. This relieves him a tad, as he releases some of his internal anger. “Hi! What’s up?”

Trent smiles tightly back at her, telling himself to relax. This guy standing next to her is a nobody; clearly a blue-collared, broke worker. _There’s nothing to even be remotely worried about._ “The clinic was empty, and I completed my paperwork for the evening, so I thought that I’d drop by and visit Carter,” he answers, as if he isn’t ticked off at all. The pastor stands by the altar, waving at him.

The bottled-blond facepalms at the front, next to the spectacled man who runs the poultry farm. He really doesn't have the time to learn _all_ of their names. “Alright, are we just not going to get through this practice without any interruptions?” she asks in irritation. “Like, we haven’t even finished the initial walk-down yet, and there are still readings to assign.”

 _Practice?_ He stares at the punk with the piece of metal in his eyebrow, the one that _his_ Claire is holding by the elbow.

He just smirks at Trent, though. The asshole actually smirks right at him, like he did this morning. He’s a bit taller than Trent, and perhaps a smidge more muscular too. Probably just because his job demands physical labour, but it still pisses him off.

Claire seems oblivious to any sort of tension, walking over to him, motioning for the ponytailed man and her “partner” to join her. “Trent, you didn’t get to meet some of my friends who weren’t at the inn last night. This is Cliff and Gray,” she explains with a grin.

“Nice to meet you,” Cliff says politely, shaking Trent’s hand vigorously. 

“Hi, Doc,” mutters Gray, making no motion to shake his hand.

_Where else do I know him from?_

Trent looks over at the back pew, frowning at a guy wearing a purple bandana, seated next to the pink-haired girl from the previous evening. “I don’t believe that we’ve met before,” he tells him.

The guy in the purple bandana looks annoyed by this. “Uh, I was at the inn last night, too. I’m Kai-"

Trent cuts him off, directing a question at Gray. “How is your throat feeling?”

 _Why does he look so familiar?_ They stare at each other intensely. _I know him from somewhere else... not just the clinic._

“Fine,” Gray answers flatly.

Claire seems astonished. “Oh, you two have met before?” She looks at the both of them with a puzzled expression.

“He was my patient,” Trent explains, ruffling her hair.

Gray scowls at this statement. “Relax, you handed me some cough syrup. Elli’s the one who did everything else.”

There is an awkward silence that rests in the church air following Gray’s words. According to the look on everyone’s face, they acknowledge it too. His cheeks turn pink, but he still scowls with that stupid expression that Trent could just smack right off. _What a smug fuck_.

Claire nudges Gray crossly, but Trent just brushes it off casually. “Well, as long as you’re feeling better,” he says, showcasing his gentlemanly demeanor to everyone. Gray scoffs at this. “What are you all doing here?” This garners another irritated huff from the bottled-blond.

“We’re here for Karen and Rick’s wedding rehearsal,” Claire answers, her eyes lighting up.

 _Does marriage intrigue someone of even her age?_ He frowns. “I didn’t know that you were in a wedding party.”

_Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t she give me a heads up that she’d be partnered up with this jackass beside her?_

Claire shrugs sheepishly. “I-I’m sorry. I-"

“It’ll be over in twenty minutes,” calls Carter from the front of the room, interrupting her explanation. “We can chat then, Doctor.”

Trent nods in his direction, beaming down at his pure, blonde little beauty. She really is everything that he could ask for and more. Sure, there's things he'd like to change, but he can get to that later. He just wishes that he could just take her to the clinic with him right now, so that they can have some alone time. “No problem at all. I’ll just come back,” he says.

Before he leaves, he stops to kiss Claire, pressing his lips against hers for a long period of time. Everyone in the room watches them, gawking. Trent pulls away, grinning at her flushed cheeks. When he directs his attention toward Gray, he can’t help but be the one to smirk at his red, fuming face. _Hope you enjoyed that, buddy._

He walks to the front doors of the church, bidding the stunned faces before him a simple and polite adieu

* * *

“Your boyfriend’s a cock,” Gray says matter-of-factly, exiting the church after completing rehearsal. Claire speedily walks away from him, shooting him the same frosty glare that she’s worn since Trent left. Kai stands beside Gray, already rattled by the blowout that’s about to transpire.

“First of all, he isn’t my boyfriend,” Claire corrects sharply, throwing her jacket on over her overalls. “Second-"

“Huh, that’s weird. I mean, he sure _looked_ like your boyfriend back there,” Gray says bitterly as he catches up to her. Kai, who was promised a night of video games with his friend after the wedding rehearsal this evening, treads hesitantly next to him, listening in on their heated conversation. Why the hell they're fighting after church, Kai isn't sure. _Aren't you supposed to leave feeling peaceful?_ All he's saying is that arguments like this never used to break out after Shabbat services.

Claire scowls, walking toward the direction of her farm quickly. “He hasn’t asked me to make it official, so that means that we aren’t yet.”

“Yet?” Kai asks. Gray just blinks at her as though she’s lost all of her brain cells, before barking out a laugh. The three of them have come to a steady-stop in front of Mineral Blacksmith now. Claire has her back to the two of them, facing the pathway of her farm.

Gray just keeps going, though, not bothering to hide the impatience in his voice. “I mean, if he’s showin’ off by kissing you in front of the whole goddamn town-"

“Why do you even care?!” Claire snaps at him, whirling around. Her voice is shrill and her dark blue eyes are blazing. Gray and Kai take a remote step back, their hands defensively thrust out in front of them, dumbstruck.

“ _Second,_ ” Claire continues, jutting her finger in Gray’s face. “The _only_ one acting like a… like a _cock,_ is you.” She grimaces after she says it, staring at a spot on the floor in front of her, as though the vulgar word has her embarrassed.

Kai widens his eyes. “Claire, you swore!” he exclaims under his breath. She glowers, causing him to retreat back again.

“Maybe I’m not a cock,” Gray says. Claire takes a step closer to him, her teeth grit. “Maybe, I’ve got a point. And _maybe_ , I’m right.“

“No, you aren’t right. You’re just a temperamental jerk.”

“That guy's a creep, Blondie.”

“I dunno if I should be talking,” Kai says, stupidly deciding that now is the best time to pipe up. “But-"

“You shouldn’t!” they both yell at him in unison, before quickly directing their fiery attention back at each other. Claire pokes at Gray’s chest, and he glares down at her.

“You don’t know him,” she argues.

“Oh, yes I do.”

“Being his _patient_ doesn’t count.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Don’t categorize me like that.”

Kai, aware of the full and real truth behind Gray’s disdain, steps in. “Claire, just hear Gray out. He’s not-"

“Please stay out of this, Kai!” Claire begs. She swipes at the frustrated tears that have formed in her eyes with the back of her hand, refusing to face either of them.

Gray shakes his head at her. “Whatever, Claire.”

“Yeah, whatever.” She begins to stomp away until Kai runs up to her, blocking her path.

“You two both need to stop,” he says heatedly. His friend is being a real jackass towards a girl, and said girl is acting impossibly stubborn. They scowl simultaneously at him. “Claire, are you going to skip out on my snack-shack opening tomorrow because of this? Everyone's coming, and you did promise.”

She unfurrows her brows, the angry expression that's been painted on her face softening. “Oh,” she mumbles sheepishly. It’s all that Kai has been talking about for the last two weeks. He wonders if any of this will stop her from supporting her friends. “Of course I’ll still-"

“Don’t count on it, Kai,” Gray says, grabbing his friend by the shoulder to walk away. “She'll forget about all of us soon enough.”

Claire blinks at him, as though considering his words. She takes a step forward, another, then another, her footsteps eerily calm on the pavement. Kai watches as she raises her eyes to Gray’s, her expression completely blank. “Do not,” she begins quietly, her jaw clenched. “SPEAK FOR ME!”

Her screaming echoes through the air around them. Everyone across the sea in Forget-Me-Not Valley could have heard her. Hell, the Sunshine Islands must have caught wind of it. She swallows, then darts down the path to her farm indignantly, leaving the two young men without any words at all.

* * *

“You sure you can’t take the day off? It’s the first day of the summer, and it’s beautiful!” She looks at Trent expectantly, trying to make a cute pouty face. The two of them are in the examination room of the clinic, with Claire trying yet another attempt at convincing him.

He clasps his hands on his desk in front of him, expression remaining stoic and firm despite her best efforts. “Unfortunately not. There’s an entire shipment of medicine that just came in less than an hour ago to organize, and a stack of paperwork to complete along with it!” Trent shakes his head, rummaging through the neat stack of files in front of him busily.

She doesn’t bother to hide her disappointment. “Oh.”

“Will you still be going?” He rises from his chair to slip on his lab-coat that hangs behind his desk, looking expectantly at her for an answer.

“Of course,” Claire says plainly, feeling herself getting agitated. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Trent frowns. “It’s just that I’m not there, and-"

“Would you rather I not go, then?” Claire pronounces each syllable accusingly.

He looks like he’s about to reach for her hand, but drops his arm abruptly to his side. “Claire, why are you snapping at me for?” Trent asks, the annoyance in his voice prominent.

She lowers her head, bangs falling in her eyes, instantly feeling bad. “I-I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. It just sounds like you don’t want me to go if you aren’t there.”

“I wouldn’t stop you from doing anything,” he chastises. “I suppose… I’m just envious that you’ll be all sexy at the beach in front of other guys, and I won’t be there to marvel at you.”

“As if!” Claire exclaims, blushing while hiding a smile. This is the first time that anyone’s referred to her as “sexy.” She’s pretty certain that she doesn’t even possess a sexy bone in her body. But, she’ll take the compliment. “Thanks, though.”

_How does he always know the right thing to say?_

Trent grins at her, before pausing. “Something’s gotten you down. What is it?” He holds her hand in his, kissing her knuckles gently.

“Just something a friend said,” Claire admits. She’s felt bad since yesterday evening. Did everyone else really think that she’d just ditch them for a new guy in her life? She doesn’t want to come across that way at all, nor does she even want that to happen.

He turns to sit back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the desk in front of him. “This wouldn’t happen to be that Gray fellow, would it?”

He’s caught her off guard. What's she even supposed to say? “Um,” Claire murmurs, acknowledging his suspicious tone. “I guess it’s more him than anyone.”

“Tell me about him.”

She frowns. “Uh, what do you want to know?” Claire suddenly feels nervous. She’s not about to disclose their one-time kiss during seven minutes in heaven, that’s for sure. Trent seemed so protective of her yesterday. Or, is that just a trait that the males in her life seem to posses?

“Has he been in Mineral Town longer than you?”

 _Why is he suddenly so curious?_ _He’s not jealous of Gray, is he?_ "Yeah, ever since his mom passed away more than a year ago.”

This seems to intrigue Trent. “She passed away?”

“From cancer,” Claire says. “He told me the story, and it was totally unbelievable, Trent. This new doctor in Chicago kept dismissing his mom’s headaches for migraines, and then they came here for a second diagnosis. Turns out, she had a tumour, but the first doctor didn’t know because he never did an MRI!”

Trent says nothing. His skin pales, and he remains speechless for some time.

“What’s wrong?” Claire asks worriedly.

“That’s… that’s horrible.”

She bites at the inside of her cheek, feeling bad for her friend all over again. This is one hundred percent the reason behind Gray’s demeanor, and sometimes, she fails to remember that. “I know. He definitely still hasn’t gotten over it. That’s probably why he’s always so-"

“You know that I do whatever I can for my patients, right, Claire?” Trent interrupts, fiddling with the stethoscope around his neck fretfully.

“Um, yes.”

He nods quickly. “Just making sure that you’re aware. I’d hate for you to think of me as… as a bad doctor.” Trent begins tapping his foot impatiently under the desk, the sound bold against the tiled floor.

Claire laughs, pinching his cheek playfully. “I don’t think that at all!”

“Well, have fun today,” he tells her, reaching over to kiss her cheek shakily. _What’s with him? Do medical horror stories give even someone like him the creeps?_ “And be sure to apply SPF 120! The lack of pigmentation in your skin will cause you to burn significantly.”

“SPF 120? Then you won’t even get a tan, Claire,” Elli says, walking over to them with a box in her hands. She places it on the floor, bending down to rummage through it. Claire laughs.

“How’s your grandmother, Elli?” she asks.

Elli looks over at her, smiling tightly. “Fine,” she answers curtly, standing back up.

Claire touches her wrist. “You should definitely come to the beach with me today!”

Trent knits his brow. “Claire, Elli has to stay back and help here.”

“Oh,” says Claire dumbly. “Right.”

“Besides,” Elli begins, tousling her short brown hair with her fingers. “I don’t even think that I own a bathing suit.”

Claire blinks. _Bathing suit?!_

Neither does she!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Kai. With his comments he's like the least forgettable one lmao  
> Trent and Gray are both being bitter doofuses. Wonder how that's gonna turn out...


	17. The Deep Water

"You came to Mineral Town without packing a bathing suit?" Karen looks over at Claire skeptically, averting her attention back to all of the pulled out dresser drawers in her room. Rather than neatly rummage through them, she tosses each article of clothing behind her shoulder as she searches, creating colourful, messy piles on the floor.

Ann picks up a purple g-string style bottom that's fallen at her feet, her blue eyes widening. "I only have some athletic-style one-pieces 'cause I hate bikinis, but you seriously have nothing, Claire?" She grimaces, pinching the edge of the fabric with her thumb and index finger, placing it on the corner of Karen's bed.

Popuri seems deep in thought, as though she's mentally going through her own wardrobe of clothes. "I mean, I own a few bathing suits, but none will fit you!" She points to her small breasts, drawing a mock tear down her face.

"I know, I know. I didn't come prepared," Claire says, staring at her feet and feeling like a total dumbass. How does she explain that the only times she ever even went swimming back in Boston were at the YMCA?

Karen waves her hand flippantly. "Chill. I've done a _lot_ of shopping in my twenty-two years of life, and we're about the same size!" She offers Claire a wink, gesturing toward her boobs, before tunnelling through her drawer again. "Here we go!" She gleefully hands her a creamsicle-coloured two-piece, as if she's just accomplished a triumphant task. Claire touches the smocked fabric of the bikini with her hands, noting that it just _feels_ expensive. It's a chic, scoop neck top that doesn't seem to dip too low, accompanied with high-waisted, cheeky bottoms that are cut boomerang style on the sides.

Claire sheepishly smiles, holding it out in front of her. The tags are still attached. "Karen, I can't. This cost you a ton, and it's still brand new!"

Karen shrugs. "So? I have expensive taste in bikinis."

"That you never wear!" Ann exclaims, surprised by the price tag as well.

"I honestly appreciate it, Kare," Claire says, scratching her head. "And I don't mean to sound ungrateful at all, but do you have a one piece by chance?" Will everyone see her scars in this get-up? At least it's not a string bikini, but jeez, Claire isn't sure that she can do this.

Karen thinks for a moment, before ploughing through the drawer once again. "How about this?" she asks, throwing Claire a flowery bathing suit with a deep v-neck and opened slits running down the sides. "Revealing" doesn't even begin to describe the back of it.

Claire smiles weakly, handing it over to her. "Umm, thanks. But, maybe I'll just go with the two-piece!"

"Okay, well, we're gonna save us a spot at the beach," Popuri says, tucking her waterproof bag over her shoulder.

"See ya soon!" Ann calls, clutching her towel. The two of them walk side by side, down the stairs of Karen's room.

"I dunno about this," Claire says, fiddling with the straps of the bikini.

"C'mon, Claire. You got a great bod. Show it off!" Karen smiles, retrieving a green bikini from her drawer. She holds it up over her clothes in the mirror in front of her, nodding at her reflection, as if decided that she's going with this option.

Claire bites her lip. _Everyone's going to see everything. Everything!_ "Maybe I'll just wear a tank top and some shorts."

Karen cocks her head. "Tell me what's your ish."

She frowns. Her "ish" is that she doesn't want anyone to see the cut-up freak that she is. It still shocks her that she willingly felt comfortable enough let Gray see her scars. As loud as Karen is, though, she's completely trustworthy. _She's honestly like the bold, older sister I've always wanted_. If Karen can trust Claire (someone that she had only met a season prior) to be in her wedding party, can't she trust her with this?

Sighing deeply, she grabs the hem of her t-shirt to lift it up. "It's this."

Karen peers at Claire's front side, then her back, pursing her lips. "Uh, do you have a tramp stamp that I just don't see?"

"My scars, Karen! Don't pretend like you don't notice them."

"Oh, that?" she asks in confusion. With a wave of her hand, she lifts up her own top, revealing a deep, long, red scar that runs diagonally on the left side of her abdomen.

"How'd you get that?" Claire asks in astonishment. She had no idea that Karen even had that.

"Appendicitis a couple of years ago," Karen answers plainly. "My skin did _not_ heal properly, but it's whatevs, Claire. I don't care at all. A scar just means that you came out stronger than whatever tried to hurt you."

She looks down at the bikini in her hands, realizing that she's never thought of things that way. Claire's always shamefully rubbed _Bio-Oil_ on her scars, praying to one day rid herself of them. "I guess you're right."

"Duh, I've like, never been wrong. And yours aren't even _that_ bad." Karen pauses, as though considering all of the factors in front of her. "The bathing suit I gave you is super high-cut, so it'll cover most of your belly button. And, it's pretty thick and long in the back, so it might even cover some of those scars too." She shrugs. "But, even if it didn't cover shit, who the hell cares? Anything that _can_ be seen, you should show it off with pride."

Claire smiles, walking over to the bathroom. "That was really nice, Kare. Thank you."

She punches her shoulder and grins. "Don't sweat it, girl."

"Do you guys sell disposable razors at the supermarket, though? There's some things I don't really wanna show off with pride... like, at all." Claire scratches her head, self-consciously laughing.

Karen snickers, pulling out a stash of them from her bathroom cabinet. She hands one over to Claire swiftly. "Alright, now hurry it up!"

* * *

Gray stands impatiently next to the barbecue, rolling his eyes at Kai's _"MR. GOOD LOOKIN' IS COOKIN'"_ grill-apron. "Is it ready yet?"

Stu sits on one of the stools by the bar of the Snack-Shack, pouting. "Gray, I ordered my baked corn first! That's no fair. You don't get to have some before me!"

Gray scrunches his nose at Stu. "How bout I eat both of ours?"

"That sounds like something mean that a mean man like you would do, Gray!" May chimes beside Stu, giggling. "Didja hear me, Grandpa?" She turns to Barley, tugging on his sleeve.

"Ehh?" Barley drones, like he's just been woken up from a nap. _The only guy that's more senile than my own grandfather._

Doug leans over the bar, beaming at Kai. "You have to teach me some of these grill recipes for the inn, son!"

"It isn't that good," Rick says, chomping on his burger while sulking.

Kai flips a patty with his spatula, turning around to size Rick up. He points the spatula in his face. "Be careful, or I'll spit in your food."

Rick groans, exiting the Snack-Shack. Gray watches through the window as he sits himself next to Ann and Popuri by the ocean's tide. He grabs his baked corn (after Stu has received his; he isn't _that_ much of a dick), leaving the wonderfully air-conditioned restaurant to meet his friends outside. Cliff shares Ann's towel with her, sunscreening her bony shoulders, while Popuri gazes off into the horizon, and Rick munches on his burger. The sun beats down forcefully; this weather is _way_ too hot for Gray's liking.

"Where's Karen?" Rick asks, looking around for his fiancée.

 _Better yet_ , Gray thinks, giving the beach a quick scan. _Where's Claire?_ All that he sees is a bunch of the residents in Mineral Town scattered around.

Maybe he's fallen for a complete flake this whole time, and he's just too dumb to realize it. He's stupid for thinking that Claire would actually show up today; Doctor Fucknut probably felt too uncertain about her wearing a bathing suit in front of other people. _Everyone_ saw how insecure Trent was when that wedding rehearsal took place last night.

He listens to a soft, pattering pair of footsteps beneath the sandy beach behind him, and turns to watch Karen and Claire saunter in, much to his surprise. Karen already has on a jade green stringy bikini, while Claire wears a long sleeved, thin linen cover-up. She strolls next to Karen, laughing and unbuttoning the shirt as she walks, slowly peeling it off. The linen flies around in the wind, like a little white flag. Gray doesn't even mean to stare, but he can't help it; he does.

Claire is wearing a bikini that matches the colour of those light orange sodas his mom used to buy when he was a kid. The scoop neck design of the top part doesn't go incredibly deep, but it enhances her cleavage and the shape of her full breasts nonetheless. Her bottoms are cut high against her legs, the straps resting on the indents of her waist, accentuating her curvy hips and racy hourglass figure. Her stomach is slender, not defined or anything, but slim. The ribbed material covers her belly button, but a tiny sliver of the scar that she didn't show him that fateful night at the inn exposes itself on her tummy. When Claire turns to retrieve a pair of sunglasses from her rucksack, Gray can just make out parts of the collection of scars on her back, beneath the straps of her bikini top. Her bathing suit almost strategically covers the uneven grafts of her skin _(was this intentional?),_ but the visible parts are completely insignificant to him. It doesn't even matter; she still looks hotter than any Baywatch guard he's ever seen.

She catches him gawking at her, and just haughtily tosses her long hair over her shoulder. Even though Claire's got sunglasses on, he can tell that she's glaring at him. Gray tears his eyes away rapidly, red blooming over his cheeks. He grabs the Stephen King book at the bottom of his bag next to him, jutting it in front of him.

When he hears a towel get tossed outward beside him, Gray pulls the front of his cap down over his face, like he's hiding. His heart is pounding. _Stop freaking the fuck out!_

"Told you I'd be here."

Claire's voice pipes through the blood rushing in his veins. Gray props himself on his elbows nonchalantly, even though he's feeling anything but. "Hmm?" he says, as though he hasn't heard her. Of course he's heard her. He'd hang on her every goddamn word if he could.

She frowns. "You heard me, doofus. I wouldn't just ditch my friends for a guy."

Gray looks her over. Her short legs are extended out in front of her, toes nestled in a pair of striped flip-flops. "Would you like me to admit that I'm wrong?" he asks, lacking sincerity.

"I would want that more than _anything,_ " she replies complacently. Gray scowls and turns away from her, trying to focus on his book while shovelling forkfuls of baked corn in his mouth.

 _What a pain,_ he grumbles to himself. Claire rises from her towel, walking with Popuri over to the Snack-Shack. Her bikini bottoms are cheeky, and Gray can't help it; he's staring all over again. _And what an ass._

Ann catches him gawking and offers him a smug little smirk. He glowers right back. Can Gray not have a break, for once, maybe? He's a dumb, horny teenager, and there's a gorgeous girl that he's accidentally (or maybe intentionally) fallen for, wearing a 90's style bikini that fills her shape perfectly, and he's just supposed to pretend that he's blind? Like he's not totally attracted to her? Gray inwardly groans, chewing on his baked corn with frustration now.

Claire returns with a rainbow snow cone and a drink of ice-cold water, sipping on it with her straw. She removes her sunglasses, and Gray can feel her eyes on _him_ now. He's shirtless, wearing a pair of old swim trunks with a pathetic lifeguard logo on them.

"What do you want?" he snaps, sitting up. Isn't this his supposed "favourite question to ask a girl?" He imagined asking Claire this question once… only that time, in a very different context. She looks at him expectantly, taking a bite of her snow cone.

"You know what I want," she demands. There isn't even an ounce of seductiveness in her voice, but Gray can't help picturing it in his head.

He swallows, turning his gaze away so that he doesn't have to torture himself with Claire looking so good in her bikini. "Forget it."

And then something freezing runs down his neck, dripping slowly onto him. Gray's back stiffens tensely from the cold. "Agh!"

Claire pulls out another piece of ice from her cup of water, dangling it over him with a blank expression on her face. She kneels on his towel, squinting at him. "You heard me, Gray." When he doesn't say anything because he's so busy focusing on the fact that she's this close to him in her friggin' bathing suit, Claire tosses another ice cube at him.

"For fuck's sake." Gray stands up quickly, darting over to Ann and Cliff. They laugh, with Ann sticking her leg out in attempt to trip him.

Claire tosses another ice cube at him. It slides on his stomach, painfully chilly on his skin. He fucking hates the heat, hates the cold, and is just never really content with virtually anything.

"GRAY."

"Jesus Christ, Blondie, I get it. I fucking get it. I was wrong."

"And you're a jackass," Claire say, her playful smile returning. She's looking so coy and so good in her swimsuit… Gray is about to explode. Her expression shifts seriously. "And you need to stop crap-talking Trent for no reason."

 _Not happening_. It's not like his hatred derives from zero reason at all.

She shrugs like she's achieved victory _(even though she sure as hell has not)_ wandering over to Ann, who readies a can of sunscreen for her. How did Claire hide the fact that she looked like this underneath her regular clothes? She's so cute, sweet, and totally clueless one minute, and then so unassumingly sexy the next. She looks better than the poster of those photoshopped girls that Gray has. Probably just as unachievable though, but hey.

The thing is, Claire is actually real, with a small waist, light stretch marks on the backs of her legs, and shoulders covered in daunting little freckles. Everything about her is so damn _real._

Has Gray ever even considered her to be sexy? She's beautiful, obviously, but looking at her now, she's just so effortlessly sexy. When Ann sprays Claire with the sunscreen, it looks shiny and slick against her skin. The beaming light makes it appear like her body has been rubbed with oil. And those high cut bottoms that sit atop her hips… _How the hell is this good girl so goddamn hot?_

When Claire saunters back to her towel, she stumbles over her flip-flops, landing on the sand with a painful "ow!" Gray pulls himself out of his thoughts, instinctively rising to help her up, staring at her whole front half covered in sand. The sunscreen that Ann applied on her acts like a glue for it.

And Gray laughs. He laughs at this sexy, clumsy, silly girl that he's probably loved since the beginning all along. Like, maybe she's always been meant for him, and maybe it took him so long to realize it because he's the truest definition of an idiot. And maybe it's too late.

But maybe, he can muster up the nerve to tell Claire how he feels, and it won't be too late at all. "Told you that you always manage to trip on your own two feet," he says through his laughter. Claire dusts off her sandy shoulders all over his plate of baked corn.

"You-" Gray starts, splashing his cup of water at her. Claire screams, sprinting over to the sea, like when The Little Mermaid ran back to the ocean and celebrated her new legs. She is snorting and stifling her laughter as he catches up to her, grabbing her waist to toss her in the water. She dives under, swimming away from him, before coming up for air with a gasp. She chokes on the salt water, covering her mouth to stop herself from snickering so hard.

Gray wants to just shut up and kiss her. He used to be so confident in the city, so sure of himself, so unafraid of the consequences to any of his actions. It's kind of insane that he was once similar to Kai, in a sense that he got girls under him no problem, but now, he's having trouble with simply disclosing to one how he feels. What if he does tell her, without an ounce of fear in his voice, and she rejects him? What if he reverts back to his old, fearless self, and he's able to reveal that he thinks she's beautiful, damning, sexy even? What if, despite his previous gawking, he assures her that kissing and holding her will be more than enough for him?

Karen runs over to the ocean, joining them with a giggle. Pretty soon Rick, Cliff, Ann, and Popuri each tag along, too, flopping into the water. Kai notices his friends and runs on over, tossing his lame apron at Doug and removing his t-shirt before jumping in. The rest of the villagers watch this group of crazy, young adolescents, who can't seem to stop their heightened shouting. Kai grabs a squealing Popuri, scooping her up in his arms, while Ann hops on Cliff's back, and Karen shares a kiss with Rick under the water.

Claire stares at all of these couples sadly, and looks down at her feet that are buried under the water. Gray quickly understands that while all he's thinking about is her, it probably isn't mutual.

But she glances at him, wet hair stuck against her back, and he feels a determination inside of him. Gray walks over to Claire, her hair streaked against her, thousands of water droplets coating her body, swimsuit soaked to the touch, looking down at her. She looks up at him right back, and where has he seen this image before? _Oh yeah, when I "platonically" kissed her for those few seconds at the inn._ When he pushed her against a wall, pressed his body to hers, felt their tongues, mind, soul collide. When he came to the conclusion that he'd give anything to romantically have her like that again.

Claire interrupts Gray's thoughts, grabbing his muscular waist to taser him with her fingers. When's the last time someone did something so childish to him? When he was, like, eight?

"Ha!" she calls.

He wordlessly grabs Claire's hips, hands clutching her as he dips her back into the water. She sputters, coming up for air with breathless giggles, before choking on the water so unattractively, that Gray realizes his feelings can only be attributed to love.

He doesn't even want to undress her. Sure, Claire looks fantastic in her swimsuit, and sure, he was gawking before like a dumbass, but he doesn't want to feel her up, or touch her, or make this all about that. He just wants to be happy, to have her with him.

_But is this proposition even something that would make her happy?_

Popuri runs over to the two of them, splashing Claire's face, while Kai noogies Gray. Cliff shoves Kai down, while Ann runs over to interrupt Rick and Karen's tender moment with a kick of water. Each and every one of them is laughing so hard that they feel dizzy. No one realizes how long they're playing around in the water for, until they see the pruniness of their fingers, and hear the deep "ahem" of the town's medical doctor behind them.

* * *

“Ah, Trent! You came!!” Claire exclaims, waving him over. He stands by her towel on the shore wearing his work clothes, expression unreadable.

She runs over to him when he does nothing, her feet making giant splashes in the water with each step. She extends her arms out to hug him, but Trent seizes her shoulders to stop her from getting him all wet.

“You aren’t dressed for the beach,” she points out with a giggle.

“No, but I can tell that you are,” Trent says, knitting his brows in irritation.

His words concern her. Why does he sound so mad? _Is he angry?_ She tilts her head, confused. “Huh?”

Trent frowns at her perplexity. “Claire, I told you to put some sunscreen on. You’re completely roasted.” He sizes her up, before stopping his eyes on her chest.

Claire moves her bathing suit strap off of her shoulder, checking her tan lines. Her skin is a little burnt, but nothing too terrible. “I used some, though.”

“Did you reapply throughout the day? You know that an over-exposure to the sun’s UV rays is no laughing matter.”

“He’s right, Claire,” says Gray sarcastically. She didn’t even notice that he and Kai have made their way over to them. Kneeling down on the towel, he rummages through his bag like he’s looking for something. _As if._ He’s only there to be snarky, and Kai’s just listening in to eavesdrop. Gray watches as she adjusts the strap back on her bare shoulder. “It’s _very_ serious," he adds.

Trent shoots him a glare, before turning his expression back to her again. “Why don’t we take a walk along the shore?” he suggests, his mouth a tight line.

“Sure,” she replies uneasily, throwing on her brown sunglasses. Claire kicks off her flip-flops, digging her toes into the sand, leaving Gray and Kai by the towels. She walks closest to the water, while Trent is opposite to her in his nice loafers. Although their fingers are intertwined, it feels tense.

“I came here to pick Stu up for Elli,” Trent says, after they haven’t spoken. He gestures toward the snickering little boy who runs with May in reverse behind them.

“I was already here,” Claire tells him. “We could have just dropped him off.”

“Who’s we? You and Gray?”

She actually meant herself and Popuri, but his nasty tone only confirms his jealousy. “Trent, Gray’s my best friend. Don’t even.”

“I get a really sick feeling that something has happened between you two.”

 _Oh boy._ Claire can’t just lie to his face; how wrong would that be? But she also doesn’t want to tell him that she’s the one who asked for that one kiss; how stupid would _that_ sound? “I mean, we kissed during this dumb game that we played at the inn, but it truly meant nothing. It was strictly plat-"

“You did what?” Trent's jaw clenches with his limited words.

Claire scoffs at him. “I’m trying to be transparent, Trent. It meant nothing to both of us.”

Well, maybe it meant _something_ to her that night. Maybe it ignited a fire inside of her when Gray held her close, but it was only because she thought that it meant something to him all the same. That wasn’t even a possibility, though; Claire’s come to realize this. If their kiss were at all meaningful to him, he would have said so, instead of losing it on her the next day. The two of them are friends, and nothing more.

“This explains everything,” Trent snaps, dropping her hand.

She stops right in her tracks, glaring at him. _Crap._ He can’t see the coldness in her eyes with her sunglasses on. “Um, explains what exactly?”

“Claire, don’t be so naïve. _I_ can see the way that he looks at you.”

She pulls her sunglasses up, to show him that she’s rolling her eyes hardcore at his ignorant statement. “I’m in a two-piece today, Trent. The men have been ogling all of the girls since we got here.”

“Well, it doesn’t help that you’re prancing around in that bikini.”

His words sting her. _Prancing around?_ She’s just having a fun day with her friends at the beach, wearing completely normal beach attire. It isn’t her fault that she has cleavage or hips or anything like that. If it were up to Claire, she’d be in something a bit more modest, but Karen’s bathing suit (and words of encouragement) made her want to wear it.

She squints, nodding in disgust at him. “Wow.”

“You’re taking it the wrong way,” Trent says when she starts walking away from him. He seizes her wrist, and Claire jerks it backward to try and make him let go.

“I think that I took it exactly how you said it. You can’t be jealous of my friends.” Claire pulls away again, freeing herself from his grasp. The strength of his grip comes as a surprise to her.

His expression instantly softens when he hears her words. He tenderly touches the spot on her forearm that he had been previously grabbing. “I’m… I’m so very sorry,” he apologizes. Claire says nothing, until he pulls her close to him, like he doesn’t care anymore that she’s wet. “That was unkind of me. You look… absolutely fantastic in that bathing suit. I suppose that I just want you all for myself.”

He squeezes her tightly. She tries to release her anger by slowly and tentatively hugging him back, before abruptly pulling away to look him in the eyes. _I guess if I knew that there was history between him and Elli, I’d be sort of weary too._ “Trent, you really don’t need to worry about that. We’re all just friends.”

He kisses her forehead gently, his hands on the small of her back. “And you’re sure that everyone is on that same page?”

“Of course,” she answers, moderating her tone.

“Okay, Claire.”

“Okay, Trent.”

He prolongs their embrace, pulling her even closer to him as he presses himself against her body. The soaked part of her bathing suit leaves small wet spots on his lab coat. She can feel her nipples getting hard against him, and wonders if this is from the cool breeze of the air blowing by her wet bathing suit, or the romantic stimulation that he just always brings upon her. Trent dips her chin up, kissing her carefully. Claire stops, before kissing him back, his mouth on hers and her body on his.

* * *

He’s watching them cautiously. When Trent lets go of Claire’s hand angrily, when he grabs her wrist, when he looks like he’s giving her shit, Gray sees it all. He readies himself to go over there, but Kai stops him hastily. And then, the doctor is embracing her, French-kissing her in front of everyone by the pier. _She’s wrapped around his goddamn finger._

“Try and tell me that they’re not dating.” Gray doesn’t bother hiding the bitterness from his voice, watching disdainfully as Trent squeezes Claire’s ass. He averts his attention away to stop himself from getting so mad.

“Look, if he hasn’t asked her to be his girlfriend, then it’s not official yet,” Karen points out. She offers him an expectant look, one that says _“you can still make a move!”_ Gray just scowls at her, stretching his arms out behind him like a makeshift pillow.

He listens for Claire and Trent’s footsteps as they gradually make their way back to the towels. He catches a glance of the doctor’s flushed face from the action he just got, feeling annoyed.

“I’m going for one more dip before the sun sets. Sit for a bit,” Claire tells Trent, kissing his cheek. She kneels down to put her sunglasses away in her bag, lowering her voice so that only Gray can hear her. “Be nice,” she mutters to him, raising herself up from the ground before strolling over to the ocean with Popuri and Ann.

_“Be nice.” No fucking way in hell._

“Learn to relax!” Claire shouts to Trent, her projected voice skittering across the waves of the sea.

“I’m sure that you can show me!” he calls back, and Gray feels his fist almost instinctively tighten up. _What. A. Cock._

Trent’s gaze stays on Claire’s backside, to the portion of her scars that peek out of her bathing suit top. It’s like he’s studying it inquisitively. _Guess he hasn’t seen them yet._

Well, Gray hopes the fuck _not._

“Hi, everyone,” Trent says, addressing the group with a smile, like he was completely unaware of their presence prior. Even the drawl of his Southern accent irritates Gray.

He tilts his cup of water into his mouth, taking a drink. “What’s up, doc?” he asks, deadpan.

Trent blinks. “Oh, just, um… you know… chilling,” he answers, sitting on Claire’s towel like an uptight prick. Is “chilling” even in his vocabulary? Gray feels the doctor’s eyes on him, staring curiously, like Gray is an amoeba specimen under his microscope. _What does he want? Is he pissed ‘cause he saw me trying to flirt with Claire by throwing her in the water earlier?_

_Good; let him be pissed._

“So, what’s your story, Trent?” Cliff asks nicely.

“Well, I just graduated from medical school under two years ago. I decided to do my dissertation in oncology.”

 _Shittiest oncologist I’ve ever seen_. Trent hears Gray's chuckle, staring through his eyes. The look that he gives is one of… recognition. Painful, eerie recognition.

And Gray realizes that the doctor remembers everything that happened in the city. He knows.

_That’s right, dipshit. I don’t give a shit about what anyone says; you’re the reason that I don’t have my mom here anymore._

“Cool,” says Kai, interrupting Gray’s newfound comprehension. He isn’t thinking straight. “Want a burger, doc? I can grill you one right now.”

“Oh, no thank you, Kyle,” Trent replies with a shake of his head. “That shit clogs your arteries.”

"It's 'Kai,'" he corrects, glowering. Karen shrugs, as if to say that she doesn’t care, before taking a large bite of Rick’s unfinished burger.

Trent throws his hands up in mock-defeat, like he didn't hear Kai. “While arguably tasty, the real issue with saturated fats is that…”

And he drones on. And on. And on; about shit that no one asked him to explain. _What does Claire see in this boring-ass motherfucker?_ If Trent cared about his patients as much as he cared about lecturing others regarding their lifestyle choices, then… maybe things would have turned out a lot differently for Gray’s life.

He keeps his gaze forward to avoid himself from getting more upset than he already is, focusing on the view in front of him. Claire is giggling, trying to avoid getting splashed by Popuri and Ann.

And he doesn’t care if Trent can see him staring. He doesn’t care that Trent put the pieces of the past together. He just doesn’t care. Gray is treading in very deep water, and he doesn’t give even the tiniest bit of a shit. He’s helplessly fixing his eyes on this effortlessly beautiful, yet clueless, girl in front of him.

Trent catches him looking at Claire, and Gray does nothing besides smirk to himself.

When Claire returns from the ocean. Trent stands up to hand her the towel that he’s been sitting on. She wraps it around herself, rubbing the cotton fabric against her wet skin to dry off. “You should join us next time, Trent. Maybe you could borrow a pair of swim trunks!”

_Fuck that._

“I should be going. It was wonderful to see you all,” Trent says, before taking Claire aside. “But especially you,” he tells her, loud enough for everyone to hear. He kisses her long and hard before making his way into the Snack-Shack, emerging with Stu seconds later. Claire goes to the entrance of the beach to wave them a goodbye as they leave.

“What a cock,” remarks Karen. She doesn’t even know the truth behind Gray’s hatred, and she’s already got the 411.

Gray falls back onto his towel with a groan. “That’s what I said.”

* * *

“What did you do today, Stu?” Trent asks, as he and the little boy walk up the stone-infused paths of Mineral Town.

“Ran with May,” says Stu, skipping along. “Ate lotsa baked corn.”

“That’s completely covered in oil!”

Stu looks down at his feet. “But I like it.”

“Did you see Claire today?”

“Yeah, everyone was at the beach. Like Miss Popuri, and Kai, and-"

“What was Claire doing?” Trent interrogates, having little patience for Stu’s stories. It’s just that he has to know.

He never meant to lose his temper on Claire. But how could she be so daft? Didn’t she understand _why_ he was mad?

“Huh? I dunno, Dr. Trent. Everybody was playing with their friends!”

“Was she with Gray?” Trent isn’t happy that Claire and Gray have some sort of a history, whether it be “meaningless” or not. He’s also not too happy that Claire is completely oblivious to the way that Gray looks at her. And he’s _especially_ not happy with all of the gawking that Gray did today, right in front of him.

 _Just ‘cause of what happened back in Chicago, this kid thinks that he can throw around his disrespect at me?_ He’s surely got another thing coming.

_... He better not fucking tell Claire._

“What?” Stu looks puzzled. “Well, yeah. She always is.”

 _Always._ Even a six-year-old boy could take notice at these sorts of things… so why can’t Claire? _Either she’s a damn good liar, or incredibly oblivious._ But she would never be dishonest with him, right?

Trent hesitates, before further inquiring: “Did he rub sunscreen on her?”

He knows that this is a ridiculous question, a question filled with his own paranoia, but he can’t stop himself from asking it. Trent imagines that blacksmith’s hands on his girl, and he feels himself getting heated. He takes a deep breath, trying to return to a state of Zen.

Stu makes a weird face. “Uhh, I dunno! That’s a really weird question, Dr. Trent.”

“Sorry,” Trent mutters, stopping by Elli’s house. He knocks on the door, readying Stu’s drop-off.

 _Claire would never be foolish enough to allow Gray’s hands on her like that, right?_ Yet, her oblivious nature worries him. How can she be so ignorant to that guy’s obvious feelings towards her? Trent knows that he hasn’t fallen for just some floozy. He knows that he’s woo-ing Claire more and more each day. She’s the girl for him, and he won’t allow some blue-collared punk, or his own secrets, to come in between that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HONESTLY, every time Trent talks about eating well, sleeping well, and overall nutrition to your character in the games (which is like 95% of the time), I just get so..................... annoyed. It makes me question the die-hard fangirls (IK I'M REALLY SORRY LMAO). Same goes with Rick and his poultry talk lolz  
> Kai, sorry you're so forgettable :///


	18. The Sheet of Thin Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I guess trigger warning? This chapter doesn't contain a "rough" sex scene, per say, but it has a depiction of a painful first-time sex scene. I mean, it's escalated, given the context... Well, I guess you'll see what I mean if you choose to read it, and get to the end, haha.
> 
> I'm not the biggest fan of when virginity loss is depicted as a tiny pinch, and then waves of multiple orgasms quickly replace the pain. Almost anyone that I've heard talk about their first time wouldn't classify it like that at all haha. Maybe that's the deal for some people, which, if that's the case, then you're one lucky duck! But, throw in the fact that certain characters are nervous wrecks here, and you've got what I decided to write.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter's a long one, but let me know what you think of it! I tried to try something new lol. Cheers, hope that you guys are staying healthy :)

He’s kissing her so hard that it’s like her mouth is going to fall off.

He falls backward onto one of the clinic chairs, pulling her closer until she’s seated on his lap. He keeps his lips on hers, his tongue prodding strongly against her own. It’s like he’s in a rush; like he just can’t get enough.

And it’s only 11 o’clock in the morning.

Trent’s left hand caresses Claire’s neck, while the other strokes the back of her ponytail. He gives it a gentle tug and, like a reflex, she cranes her neck back, panting as he kisses along it. His hands then find their way to her thighs.

Claire is trying to keep up, but it’s proving to be difficult with how rapidly Trent is moving. To be frank, she's very nervous. _I’ve never made out like this before… Am I even any good?!_

“Wait,” she mutters, sloppily climbing off of him to grab the bottle of milk that she’s brought. She carefully places it in Trent’s mini fridge by his desk, hoping that her need to stall isn’t too obvious. It wasn’t like they were close to knocking it over during their make out frenzy, but Claire uses this moment to catch her breath.

He whirls her around when she closes the fridge door, scooping her up in his arms and sitting back down in his chair. Despite her stresses, she’s resumed the position on his lap, and he’s necking her even harder now. They’re pressed up against each other again, with nothing but their clothes in between them. His hands have moved from just gripping the tops of her thighs to roaming around her curves.

“Ah,” Claire whispers, wincing. Is the sunburn from yesterday really that bad, or is she just tense?

“Wear sunscreen next time,” Trent mumbles against her face. She’s about to buy time for her anxiety by arguing with the fact that she _did,_ in fact, put sunscreen on, but her plans of further stalling are interrupted by Trent biting her lip. She gasps at his urgency.

Claire likes being kissed by Trent. She relishes in the desire to feel wanted, and he sure as heck provides that. But, he’s moving far too fast for her comfort levels right now. It’s as if he can’t stop himself. His polite demeanor isn’t anywhere to be found, and instead, he’s acting very demanding. Isn’t this what the nuns at the convent, and her gym teachers, warned her about? The boys who would push for the physical aspect of a relationship sooner than she’d like? Throw in the fact that Trent’s way older, and they’d tell her that this equivocates to a recipe for disaster.

But Claire knows this isn’t true. _This won’t go down as a disaster._ She’ll find a way to make him understand why he absolutely needs to slow down, one way or another.

When Trent’s wandering hands reach over her chest to squeeze her breasts, Claire’s thoughts come to a halt, and her breathing hitches. Her lips stop responding to his as she tries to shift her mouth away. He squeezes harder, but she just swallows. _This,_ she definitely does not want. _At all._

Is this all that _he_ wants?

“Trent,” she says, but he uses one of his hands to jut her face back against his, mashing their lips together. Claire feels her heart sink. She rummages through her Rolodex of movies that she’s seen, in order to relate this instance to something. She swiftly recalls that part in _The Notebook_ , where Noah starts feeling Allie up, and then they try having sex that same night, even though Allie was nervous and not ready. _And then her parents called the police, and they fought, and broke up, and didn’t see each other for seven years. SEVEN YEARS!_

Dramatic, sure, but Claire relies on films like this to help her with all that she doesn’t understand about relationships.

 _Her_ relationship hasn’t even been made official yet!

“You’re gorgeous,” Trent tells her, groaning. “You really are, Claire. It’s driving me crazy.”

 _What’s going to happen next?_ No one’s touched her here before. She let Trent feel up her behind because, well, that didn’t scare her. But something about being grabbed like _this_ definitely scares her. She doesn’t care if that sounds silly or childish; it just does. This thing with Trent hasn’t even transpired to a whole week, and they’re already at this point?!

“Trent.”

“And you’re all mine-"

“Could we maybe stop for a sec?!” Claire asks loudly, pushing him away. Trent’s face is flushed, surprised, and blatantly disappointed. “Take a, um, breather?”

Is she a prude for not wanting to be groped like this, at this time, by a guy who isn’t even technically her boyfriend? She’s allowed to have boundaries, isn’t she? After all, she’s only seventeen.

Claire speaks up again when Trent silently stares at her. “I’m really sorry. I… it’s just that you’re going really fast for me. I can’t do any of that.”

Does she have to disclose to him that she’s waiting until marriage, if they aren’t even dating yet? Does she really have to do that _right_ now, when they’re all hot and bothered? He knows that she’s been raised as a strict Catholic in a _convent_ , knows that she’s never had a boyfriend, knows that she’s still young… can’t he tell that she just isn’t ready? Can’t he piece it all together with that huge brain of his, without her having to prematurely disclose of her mortifying promise?

Claire knows that this method of thinking is naïve, but she’s still hopeful.

“Claire, you’re mine,” Trent explains, like this statement is in conjunction with his dissertation in oncology. Did he even hear her? “I just… I always want you so bad.”

She frowns at the inconsistencies in his statement. “How can I even be yours if we’re not dating, Trent?”

“We aren’t dating?”

“You haven’t even asked me yet,” she points out, trying to steady her breathing. “We went on one date, and have just been kissing ever since.”

Trent sizes Claire up, lifting her off of him to stand up. “What a fool I am,” he says slowly, slipping on his lab-coat that hangs on the back of his chair. “I apologize for pushing you, and for my lack of communication.” Rushing over to her, he lowers his gaze to meet her eyes. “Will you be mine, Claire?”

And, almost like a strategy, he takes her hand in his, guiding it to the thumping of her own heart between her breasts. He brings her hand to his lips, kissing it, before tucking some wispy bits of her ponytail behind her ear.

Claire just smiles, relief washing over her. _He gets it!!_ “Of course,” she says, kissing his cheek. “Thank you for understanding.”

She’ll open up to Trent about that terrifying promise soon enough; when she’s unafraid and ready. It’s just that it’s such an intimate part of her. Claire’s even surprised that she was able to share it with Ann and Gray: two people who don't abstain from sex, but didn’t pass judgement on her own decision to do so.

The sound of the clinic door opening rushes through the room. Elli steps in, holding the door to shake her umbrella outside. Claire didn’t even realize that it had begun to rain. Trent hurriedly jerks away from her, throwing on the stethoscope that’s been sprawled on his desk.

Elli leans her umbrella against the corner wall, peering at the two of them through the doorway. “I hope that I’m not interrupting anything,” she says, staring at Trent. Claire looks down at her feet, biting the inside of her cheek.

“Claire brought milk, Elli,” Trent says, hurriedly opening the fridge to produce the bottle as proof. "How thoughtful."

Elli smiles weakly. “Damn, I shouldn’t have forgotten my to-go cereal!” she responds, smacking her head. She leaves the two of them to gather the papers that have collected into gargantuan piles on her desk.

“I think that you had better go, Claire,” Trent whispers, so that only she can hear him. He removes his head mirror to gaze into his reflection, adjusting the stethoscope around his neck accordingly.

Claire nods, hoping that Elli doesn’t think anything crazy just went on. Even if it sort of did. _Well, crazy for me._ “Can I see you tonight?” she asks him hopefully.

“I’m working late,” Trent says, tossing her an apologetic look. He opens the top drawer to his desk, before immediately closing it. “Why don’t we aim for Wednesday?”

She knows that this is his day off, but she hates having to wait.

Claire nods again, giving him a cheerful smile to mask her discontent. She doesn’t want to make him feel bad, given that he and Elli must have to work so hard to keep the town well. “I’ll come visit you in the mornings to bring you some fresh milk from my farm,” Claire tells him, figuring that she hides the disappointment in her voice well.

“I’d like that very much,” Trent replies, kissing her.

* * *

After he’s sure that she’s gone, he opens the drawer of his desk once again. A stash of colourful, scattered condoms stare right back at him.

“Goddamnit,” Trent says, slamming it shut once more.

* * *

“You look like a mess,” Gray says, over the pitter-pattering of rain. He is placing a hot piece of metal outside to cool when Claire walks by with her head down.

Surprised, she raises her eyes, rushing next to him to get under the sheltered roof of Mineral Blacksmith. She’s soaked, but more importantly, annoyed by his comment. “Um, first of all, no girl wants to hear that. Second of all, it’s raining, so _duh_ , I look like a mess.”

“ _Duh_ ,” Gray mimics. “Nice umbrella.”

Claire looks down at her empty hands. “I don’t have an umbrella.”

“I know.”

She blinks. “You are so dumb, Gray.”

He barks out a laugh like he’s the funniest guy on the planet _(he really isn’t)_ , removing his blacksmith gloves. “Where’d you just come from?”

“Nowhere!” she answers defensively. _You’re a terrible liar._

“You’re a terrible liar,” Gray says, gesturing towards the pink lip gloss still smeared on the corner of her mouth. Claire’s eyes widen as she touches it, her fingers returning with the sticky residue. She hurriedly wipes the makeup off with the back of her hand, as Gray just holds the door open for her to follow him inside.

“Whatever.” Claire shakes her head, stepping into Mineral Blacksmith. “I have to go to the Yodel Ranch now. Barley says that he has a _surprise_ for me!” she singsongs.

“I mean, he owes you,” he muses. “You helped his struggling business stay afloat when you bought two cows from him, just so that you could deliver milk to your dumb doctor.” He walks to the sink to wash his hands, looking at her expectantly.

Why is he analyzing? How does he know the latest town gossip? _Who told him any of this?!_

“He isn’t my doctor,” she answers smugly.

“Right. He’s your boyfriend.”

“Yeah, he is,” Claire replies proudly, happily trotting out that new title.

Gray says nothing in return, picking up an enclosed sandwich on his kitchen countertop. He unravels the saran-wrap, taking a bite of his food while looking at her thoughtfully. “I’m on lunch now,” he explains, covering his mouth while he chews.

“Amazing.”

“Lunch?!” Saibara opens the door to his bedroom when he hears these words, holding an identical sandwich in his hands. Gray already begins to roll his eyes.

“Here we go.”

“There is no _lunch_ break,” Saibara snaps at Gray from across the room. While Claire feels bad for her friend, sometimes the confrontations between these two are as entertaining as the shows on The WB. “There’s work that needs some damn completion and-" When he finally notices her, Saibara beams. “Oh, hi Claire.”

She grins. “Hi, Saibara.”

“Working hard?”

“Me? Not right now.” Her crops didn’t need watering today, given the drizzle outside. The busiest part of her day was feeding her cows, placing an order for a chicken from Popuri, and getting that call from Barley. “But your grandson…” Claire lets her voice trail off, indicating towards Gray’s calloused hands. He just swallows his food.

“We aren’t even busy today,” Gray tells the both of them.

“Do you need Gray to help you with something?” Saibara asks, biting into his own sandwich.

“No. I mean, I dunno. I have to go by Barley’s.”

“That old kook?” Saibara asks, rubbing his beard attentively. Gray gives Claire a look of pure irony, and she does her best to stifle her laughter. “Well, I guess my grandson can go with you.” Saibara places his hand on Gray’s broad shoulder. “Hear that, Grayson? You get a lunch break today.”

“How gracious,” Gray mutters sarcastically.

“Take an umbrella!” Saibara yells, before walking back into his room, slamming the door shut.

“We don’t even own one,” Gray shouts back, crumpling the saran-wrap in his hands to throw it away. He clears the table of any garbage, opening the front door for Claire.

“I don’t either,” Claire says when they step outside. The rain feels especially harsh today, and grossly humid too. She begins to throw her ponytail into a high bun, when Gray places his hat over her head.

“Here.”

She smiles at him, gathering all of her hair to tuck it into the hat. She must look like a boy now. “Thanks, Gray.”

He shrugs. “Don’t sweat it, Blondie.”

* * *

“A horse!” Claire exclaims, for what feels like the fiftieth time. She clutches the reigns in her hand gleefully, attempting to guide the animal next to her slowly. “A baby horse! Can you believe it, Gray?”

Gray smiles, patting its muzzle soothingly as they make their way to Claire’s barn. This was seriously generous of Barley. “It’s called a foal.”

Claire looks over at him quizzically. The sky has cleared up a bit, but he lets her keep his hat on, simply because of how cute she looks. “Are you a horse expert?” she asks him.

“I like horses.”

“You do?”

“What do you think my hat says on it?”

Claire looks up at her forehead, the cap resting over it. “'UMA’ means horse?”

“Yeah, in Japanese,” Gray says. If his hat were on his head, he’d be fiddling with it right about now. “My mom... went to Tokyo with my dad when I was younger. It was around the time that damn _Black Beauty_ remake came out, and I was like, obsessed with it as a kid, apparently.” He can’t help but think so fondly of the memory. “So my idiot father suggested they bring me back something that had to do with horses, and she could only find a hat that literally has the translation of ‘horse’ on it.”

“And they got you a fancier version, too, and you’ve been wearing them ever since.”

Gray shakes his head. “No, actually. I only started to wear them after she, um, passed away.”

She pauses, reaching over the horse’s saddled brown back to touch Gray. “That’s a really nice story.”

When her hand is on him, he looks away. How can she always make him so nervous? “It’s whatever. I should have worn it when she was alive.”

“Well, now you can’t seem to take it off,” Claire points out.

“Right.” He gestures toward her capped head.

"Did you watch that _Spirit_ movie that came out a couple of years ago?"

"Yeah." It was pretty good, for Disney or whatever, but he'd never admit that. He's too old to be enjoying cartoons.

Claire nods. "I didn’t know that you like animated movies, Gray.”

“I’m an adult. I don’t."

“Ah-huh," says Claire, pretending to believe him. "Y'know, you don't always have to pretend like you're too cool for everything."

He ignores this, deciding to change the subject as he pats the foal’s thick black mane. “This is a really nice horse, Claire.”

“Isn’t it?” She smiles brightly, spotting her barn as she leads the horse over. “C’mon, girl!”

Popuri walks over to the both of them from the entrance of Claire’s farm, cupping a tiny yellow chick in both of her hands. “Special delivery,” she calls, rushing over.

“Oh, it’s so cute!” Claire squeals, placing the horse's reigns down.

“I know, right? This one was born this morning!” Popuri squeals right back. _I can feel a headache coming on_. She looks at the hat on Claire’s head for a long time, before turning to an irritated Gray. “Sorry for cancelling your plans tonight.”

“Huh?” Gray asks. He stares at her, still petting Claire’s horse.

“Kai and I are hanging out now.” Popuri offers him an apologetic look.

“He told me that he was coming over.”

“Yeah, but Ann’s working late, and Rick’s out with Karen tonight, sooo he wanted to seize the opportunity of not having to see my brother.”

Gray scowls. “What a shit.”

“Why don’t we all just hang out?” Claire suggests, lightly patting the chick. “You guys can come here!”

Popuri pauses for a moment, then smiles. “I guess we can compromise. I’m down for whatever, as long as my brother doesn’t bother me!” She hands Claire the baby chick, gathering her dress in her hands to run off. “I’ll go by the beach right now to let Kai know!”

“Who says I wanted to hang out with you, _or_ Popuri, tonight?” Gray asks her, after Popuri has left.

Claire matches his scowl. “The disrespect that comes outta you, Gray.”

Of course, he doesn’t mind at all. Gray will take whatever chance he can get to spend time with her. But then when it’s over, it often leaves him with a sad emptiness that aches his heart, like a double-edged sword. _Being with Claire only makes me want her more and more._ “What about your _boyfriend?”_

“Um, what about him? Trent’s working late,” Claire says, squinting at him. Her fingers brush against the feathers of the chick in her hands. She holds it up to her face, delighted at its softness, but her expression quickly turns serious. “We aren’t joined at the hip, you know.”

“Nah, you’re joined at the tongue.”

Her cheeks flush. Claire turns away to bend down and place her chick on the floor of her barn. “You’re disgusting.”

Gray’s on a roll, though. “Why don’t you wait for him to finish work tonight, so that you guys can go and play tonsil hockey?”

Her eyes widen. “ _What_ is wrong with you?”

He smirks. “Maybe-"

“Oh my gosh, forget it!” Claire tries to storm off, but Gray runs in front of her.

“I’m just being funny.”

“You’re not.”

“Ouch.”

She rolls her eyes. “Could you bring your DVD player tonight? I think Popuri's got a ton of movies at her house.”

“You don’t wanna watch stand-up again?”

Claire just smiles. “We’ll save that for me and you, _duh._ ”

Gray does his best to avoid turning red. He grabs his hat back off of her head, expecting Claire’s hair to expand and frizz out. But it falls down in those golden tresses that he’s come to love, strands spilling over her shoulders. He looks away. “Sure.”

* * *

That night, after they’re all off shift, Kai, Popuri, and Gray knock on Claire’s door as the rain starts back up again. “You cock blocked me, man,” Kai mutters, lowering his voice.

“Shut up,” Gray chuckles.

Claire opens the door, and he notices that she’s wearing a pair of polka dotted pajama pants with an oversized t-shirt. She looks like a comfortable slob, but he doesn’t mind it. Kai holds out a copy of _American Pie_ to her as they walk into her house.

“It’s funny, I swear,” Kai says.

“I haven’t seen it, Claire,” Popuri adds, sighing. “I _really_ wanted to watch _Bring it On_.”

Maggie starts barking at Gray’s feet until he kneels down to lift the dog up in his arms. He scratches behind her ears, while she licks his cheek happily.

“Aw man, I love that movie!” Claire says. She reaches for Maggie back from Gray, scoffing when her dog chooses to seat herself on his lap for the remainder of the night. He merely smirks.

The four sit on her couch to watch the film, laughing at it from start to finish. Claire and Popuri sit in the middle, viewing this not-so-new movie that’s new to them intently, with Gray and Kai on opposite sides of them.

“Oh my God, her top is actually off!” Popuri whispers, when the European exchange student gets undressed during one part of the film.

Claire widens her eyes. “Jeez, I didn’t think they’d show that!”

“He literally fucks a pie, why are you surprised?” Kai asks incredulously.

“They’ve never seen a sex scene before,” Gray says.

Claire frowns. “Um, not true. I’ve seen _Titanic._ ”

_Aren’t they just making out in a car with the windows steaming in that one?_

Popuri reaches for Claire’s hand dreamily. “Oh, that movie is so romantic!”

“No it isn’t,” says Gray. “A ship literally goes down… how is that romantic?”

Claire doesn’t bother responding. Her eyes are glued to the television, watching an untamed sex scene from the film. Gray can tell that although she’s curious, she’s still completely squeamish and flustered at the parts like this (even if she is trying to hide it well).

And though it’s none of his business at all, he wonders if her creep boyfriend knows about her plans tonight.

* * *

“If Rick isn’t home, can I come by for a bit?” Kai mumbles to Popuri, when the credits of the film start rolling. If he’s trying to be secretive, it isn’t working; Gray can hear him from the complete opposite side of the couch. Popuri nods at him with bedroom eyes, and they thank Claire as they leave.

Her front door opens ten seconds later.

“Gray,” Kai says breathlessly, bolting into Claire’s house again. Gray is still sitting on the couch with Claire, staring at him as the movie credits roll by.

“What?”

“Do you have a…?” Kai grits his teeth, not meeting Claire’s confused gaze.

Gray glares at him, pulling his wallet out to hand Kai a condom. His friend looks eternally grateful, bolting out of the house immediately once again.

She looks over at Gray. “Um, what was that?”

 _Oh, fuck._ He had given it to Kai without even thinking, like it was second nature. This is a scenario that had played out at parties in high school a thousand times before. _And it’s also something I didn’t want her seeing._ “Exactly what you think it was,” Gray sighs uneasily, like he’s one of the nervous guys in the film about to lose his virginity.

“Do you always carry them around with you?” Claire’s question is quizzical. _You’re not supposed to think that I’m the womanizer,_ Gray internally groans, wanting to kick himself.

He shrugs, trying to be nonchalant, even though she’s making him anxious now. _She’s_ the one making _him_ anxious. _Let that sit in._ “I guess I have, ever since my girl had a scare in high school.” Gray doesn’t want her to think that he carries one in case he finds himself in a compromising position, even though that’s the very basis of what _emergency condoms_ are for.

He sure as hell doesn’t want her to think he brought one for himself tonight.

But Claire nods, as if she gets it. Like she’d do the same, too. “That’s cool.”

“Safe sex is cool?”

“Cooler than getting knocked up!”

Gray makes his way to her front door, Maggie still sleeping soundly in his arms. “For the record, Kai takes almost all of them.”

“Yikes. Guess you don’t get as much as I thought.”

“No one wins with you, do they, Blondie?”

“Nope.”

He exits her house, the feeling of the rain pelting his skin. He looks down at the dog in his arms, forgetting the fact that he still hasn't given her back.

Claire runs out to grab Maggie from him as soon as he realizes this. “You really are a dog-napper,” she giggles.

“What do you miss the most about the city?” Gray blurts out. He recognizes that he doesn’t want this evening to be over at all. He wants to stay with Claire longer, find out more about her, laugh the night away again. He doesn’t even care if they’re standing in the rain right now.

She smiles, stroking Maggie’s now-damp fur. “The sound of traffic, believe it or not. How about you?”

“I was gonna say the _Walgreens_ on every corner.”

“The ones that sell those _Combos_ pretzels? With the cheddar inside?”

The corner of his lip lifts. “Yeah.”

She looks around her, raising her free arm over her head. “I’m wet,” Claire tells him with a laugh, pointing at the blackened sky. A million raindrops fall from the clouds above them, pouring over the two. “So I’m going inside now!”

“Night, Blondie,” Gray calls, watching her wave as she closes her door. He jams his hands in his pocket, standing in the middle of the drizzle, staring at the spot that she was just standing in.

* * *

_It feels like time has passed. What, a couple of years, maybe?_

_“Come here,” she murmurs, not facing him. They're standing in a clear, green meadow. Did he just imagine her saying that?_

_She’s naked, like a wood nymph, her skin bare and translucent and creamy. He makes his way over to her slowly, taking in her body, her back, her ass, her scars, every single one. When she turns, he can’t help but let out a groan; he needs her. Her breasts fall against her body, full and sexy, her nipples perking out. He lowers his eyes down, swallowing. There is a little triangle of light brown, almost blonde hair, between her legs, curling against her swollen sex._ _He reaches for her, pressing himself up against her, realizing that he’s completely nude as well._

_“I’m wet,” she moans to him. He reacts by kissing her instantly, his mouth hot on hers._

_Holding her tightly, he lowers her to the grass beneath them. He reaches his fingers down to her intimate lips, toying with her slit. “I know,” says Gray, his voice husky when he touches her slickness._

_Claire timidly reaches for his erection, rock-hard in her hand, whimpering when he positions himself at her entrance. His breaths are laced with desire, but he waits for the "okay" from her. She looks at him, her eyes half-lidded, nodding slowly. Her skin is fiery on his, lips burning against his own, like she’s a damn piece of metal from the shop that requires immediate cooling. When he finally pushes his length inside of her, she breaks their kiss to throw her head back, shrieking out a cry._

_He can feel her clawing at his back, wondering how much of a mark she's leaving. A small drip of blood has already begun to pool in between her legs, trickling onto the grass beneath them. And while it’s all so fucking good, this sensual feeling shifts to one of horror._

_“K-k-k-keep g-going,” Claire says, tears streaming down her face as she reaches up to press her lips to his once more._

_“You’re hurt,” Gray states, panic edged in his voice. His face pales; Claire looks like she's in excruciating pain. This isn’t a dream anymore. It’s a fucking nightmare._

_But, as if she’s determined to stay on some kind of script, Claire wraps her trembling legs around his body, pulling him deeper inside of her. Like this is what she thinks that she’s supposed to do. She cries out again, still sniffling from the pain as she tries to plead for him._

_“P-please, Gray, don’t stop,” she begs unconvincingly. “I-I don’t want you to stop.”_

_“Claire-"_

_“Please!”_

_Tentatively, he starts thrusting again. She sobs, and he realizes that he can’t keep going without feeling like he’s fucking killing her._

He awakens in a goddamn frenzy, sweat covering his whole body. Guilt washes over him.

Gray didn’t intentionally have a dream like that. _No, that wasn't a dream; it was a goddamn fucking nightmare._ Is it the sex movie that they all watched earlier which set him off? Or the film's discussion of virginity? Or, was it his clearly perverted subconscious, hearing Claire say that she was wet from the rain as he applied that phrase out of context?

He doesn’t mean to think of her at all like this. Claire isn't even _allowed_ to have sex. Yeah, sure, she looked good in her bikini yesterday. But he didn’t know that he’d dream of her so naked and vulnerable in that way. Despite the fact that he shouldn’t want to, he just wants to kiss her and hold her close. _Not fuck her and cause that kind of pain._

Then he thinks of that goddamned doctor. The guy's twenty five, dating a seventeen-year-old for whatever reason; isn't it obvious what he wants? That's probably _all_ he wants, other than to date a minor and hold that power imbalance over her head. Was Trent actually and physically doing this shit to Claire in real life?

_That's none of my business._

_But I hope to fucking God not._

He runs into his bathroom, splashing some cold water on his still-pale face. Gray grips the handles of the sink, before leaning back to rip off his shirt. A nice shower can cleanse him from these sorts of thoughts, right?

 _Am I... just as bad as Trent?_ He stares at his blurry self in the bathroom mirror.

_No. No fucking way. I love Claire. I only want the best for her. I'm nothing like that creep._

His eyes bore into his own reflection, like he's struggling to understand himself.

“Get it the fuck together,” he snaps.

The worst part is that Gray knows that he’s on thin ice. He knows that it’s dangerous to think about Claire in any way other than as her friend. None of this was on purpose, yet his seemingly erotic dream quickly shifted to a fucking terror right before his very eyes.

And when Claire was hurting, still begging for him, he hesitated. She told him through her tears to keep going, and for some stupid reason, Gray did just that. Like he was anticipating the metaphoric ice underneath them to fucking crack.

But he can't just maintain pure innocence, though. He won't be ignorant to the fact that he's been thinking about her nonstop, longing to kiss her, loving her from afar... all of these are surely factors that contributed to his disastrous nightmare tonight.

He slides open door to his shower, turning the knob as the water rushes over him. Gray knows that as hard as it's going to be, he needs to move on.

And get Claire out of his goddamn head.


	19. The Sign of Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I went back and realized some things. I didn't set a specific time period for this story. Idk why I made a couple of current references, but I went back and edited them, because I'd like the setting for this story to be in the early 2000's. The first release of this game came out in 2003, but the MFOMT version came out in 2005, so I'm thinking around that time! It's a time I grew up in, so hopefully I do it justice and don't mess up my time-cultural references lol

He avoids her like the fucking plague in the days to come. This attempt proves to be unsuccessful, as though she’s a magnet to his presence.

 _Maybe we aren’t meant to be apart_ , Gray thinks the next morning, kneeling down to tie the laces of his running shoes.

_“I-I don’t want you to stop.”_

He finishes knotting it angrily. _No, we are._

While running, Gray mistakenly passes by the Goddess Pond, a spot where Claire’s farm is evidently visible amidst the open space surrounding him. This routine has become such a habit for him, that he didn’t even realize what he was doing. The sun is beating down and his sneakers are squeaking against the mossed, dewy fields. Sometimes she's awake by the time he's started his laps, and other times she isn't. Of course, today she is; he can see her absentmindedly bringing her new foal out to graze. She quickly catches Gray’s figure darting across the meadow instantly, waving at him happily. Maggie barks beside her, running towards the direction that he’s going in, while Claire darts after her.

From where he's positioned, Gray can still make out the brightness of Claire’s golden hair. All that he’s thinking, amidst his panic, is that there’s no way her colour can even be remotely fake. Her locks are made up of way too many different shades of blonde, their natural highlights shining in the rising sunlight amplified against them.

Obviously she’s a natural blonde. Didn’t her naked figure in his dream reveal that?

 _Stop,_ he tells himself.

Maybe she doesn’t even like to keep hair down there at all.

_Enough!_

Why is he thinking about _this_ of all things?! Gray keeps his head down, like he never saw her at all. He makes a direct beeline through the thicket of trees, leaving Claire and Maggie to stand in a shrouded state of perplexity on the edge of her farm property.

* * *

“I think that you need to get laid,” Kai decides, after Gray is finished work the next day. _Of course that’s his solution._ He tosses him a bottle of ketchup from across the Snack-Shack counter, but Gray doesn’t even bother catching it. It hits his shoulder, landing quietly on its side. “That’s why you can’t get her off of your mind.”

“I don’t want to fuck her,” Gray says. Kai keeps his focus on the barbecue in front of him, flipping the sizzling burger patty against the grill thoughtfully.

“Whatever,” he replies, tossing the burger onto a wholegrain bun. “You can make love to her, or something.”

 _Or something._ “You don’t get it,” says Gray. “I don’t want to. Even if I wanted to, we _can’t.”_

Kai looks dubious. He uses his spatula to slide the completed burger in Gray’s empty plate in front of him. “You don’t want to? You don’t want to at all? Like, if she came in here and was all like, ‘oh Gray, please _take me_ ,’ you would say, ‘nahhh?’”

Gray just blinks at his friend. “’Take me?’ Really?”

“Whatever.” Kai shrugs, waiting for an answer from Gray. But is there even a response suitable enough for this kind of question?

“Of course… I wouldn’t… like, _not_ want to. But she’d never do that,” he says, his words feeling jumbled and thick in his mouth. _How am I gonna explain this one?_ “Look, I actually don’t care about... like, that shit isn't my main focus at all. Just help me to understand what the hell that dream was.”

Kai is quiet for a moment. “I dunno.”

“Yeah, fuck if I know either.”

“You know, Popuri’s first time was with me,” Kai tells him. Gray stares at his hamburger, not bothering to pick it up. For once, he actually doesn’t have an appetite. He just sits there, saying nothing, hoping for his friend to reveal an epiphany of sorts. “I felt bad at the beginning, thinking about her… in the way that I usually think about girls. It’s probably ‘cause she was so inexperienced, prayed a lot… you know.” He chuckles. “I mean, she still uses ‘pinky promises.’ How the hell can you think about a girl in that way if they do innocent shit like that?”

Gray raises his left eyebrow, wincing at the pain. Damn piercing remains unhealed, like most other things in his life. “And?”

“That things never gonna stop hurting if you keep doing that.”

“And what?”

“And nothing.” Kai shrugs again. “She made the decision if she wanted to do it… _when_ she wanted to do it. And because it was completely in her hands, I didn’t have anything weighing down on me.”

“This is all pointless. Claire has a fucking _doctor_ for a boyfriend. I’m can't do shit about that.”

“I know how pissed you are seeing him... seeing him with her.”

Gray pushes his untouched plate to the side, suddenly feeling his stomach sink. “I have to stay away from her,” he says.

Kai shakes his head, like Gray is a foolish child. “Won’t work.”

“As if you know jack shit about relationships. This is your first one.”

Kai looks Gray dead in the eyes. “And this is the only one I want. Pope makes me want to stay in this sleepy town year-round. You have to find someone who gets you to feel that way.”

“I don’t have that.”

“You do,” Kai says, craning his neck to peer out the front-door window. “And here she comes.”

Like some sort of a goddamn cue, Claire strolls into the Snack-Shack, smiling and giving a five-finger wave to Kai. Gray's stomach further lurches. He keeps his head down, pulling his hat over his eyes to shield his vision of her.

“Do you have what I ordered?” Claire asks Kai.

Gray hears the sound of Kai opening up the shop’s freezer. “Here’s some, uh, non-artificially flavoured shaved ice.”

“Thanks!” She grips the bag, and then curiously walks over to Gray, shaking the ice next to his head. It makes a loud crushing sound, condensation brushing up against his ear. He jerks back like a reflex.

“Umm, hi, Gray,” says Claire peculiarly. Kai peers at the two of them, like he's watching an HBO special to see what’s about to transpire next.

_So much for my plan._

“Hello,” he mutters, his gaze fixed on his lap. Can’t she just leave him alone? Does she always have to be such a pain in the ass?

She gives him a smirk. “Why’d you run away from my farm yesterday morning? Maggie was seriously bummed.” She’s dressed in a pair of loose-fitting Levi's shorts, and a tank top that hug her curves. The cross that Gray had made for her is pinned to the corner of her top. With her hair all pulled back like this using pink and purple butterfly clips, he can see the amount of makeup that she's applied. _On route to Trent, no doubt._

“Sorry,” he mutters, walking out of the Snack-Shack silently. He pushes the door open with his shoulder, shoving his hands in his pocket. Even though he's wearing a t-shirt, it's sweltering outside. The sun greets him as he walks past the boardwalk of the beach.

Immediately, Claire darts after him, the sand under her feet kicking out as she steps. “What’s with you?” she asks, having caught up to Gray. “Since when do you leave food on your plate?”

When he merely stares down at a spot in the ground next to her, refusing to answer, Claire pipes up again. Concern blooms across her pretty face. “It feels like you’re avoiding me, Gray. Did I do something?”

He sighs, still denying himself eye contact with her. “No.” _Of course not. This is all on me._

When she reaches for him, the bag of colourful shaved ice in her hand brushes up against his forearm. “Tell me!”

“Look, I’m just not feeling well.”

Claire pauses, releasing his arm. It drops to his side. “Okay, well if that’s the case, then just hear me out.”

“No.”

“If you go to the clinic-"

“Jesus Christ.”

“Gray, you _really_ don’t look so good. You’re all pale!” Claire takes a step forward again, pressing her palm under the front of his cap, against his forehead. Her chest brushes up against his own when she does this, and he just pales some more. She then holds her palm to her own forehead in confusion. “It’s Trent’s day off,” she clarifies. “But I’m sure that he wouldn’t mind-"

He jerks himself away from her. His heart is racing. “ _I_ mind.”

“Gray-”

“Does your boyfriend know that you still talk to me, Blondie?” He narrows his eyes at her. “Because I get the feeling that he doesn’t like me being around you at all.”

She glares at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh, ‘cause you just adore him _so_ much, right?”

Gray ignores this snide response, because he knows that for every comeback that he has, Claire will have about a dozen more. He’s willingly fallen for a girl that insufferably busts his chops. “So he was totally cool with me –with all of us– coming over two nights ago? That was fine?”

“I-I didn’t ask his permission... and I haven’t seen him yet to let him know, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“But you won’t let him know, will you?”

“I’m not afraid to open up to people like _you_ , Gray,” says Claire, sharply. _What a bad liar._

She seems afraid of _Trent_ , though, like she’s constantly walking on eggshells around him. Afraid to anger him, afraid that her actions might upset him, afraid that he'll wake up one morning and call it quits. It’s like she tries to be on her best behaviour around him. Not to mention, Trent doesn’t seem to like the fact that she has a life and a mind for herself... or friends of the opposite gender.

Claire around Gray is another story, though. For starters, she definitely isn’t afraid to piss him off, given at how often she does it.

“Right,” he says heatedly. He doesn’t mean to get angry with her. She’s not the one that he's angry with. “Have you even told him yet about your ‘situation?’”

Claire squints at him, like she’s seeing Gray with a new set of eyes for the first time. “Oh, I have a ‘situation?’”

_Can you use the right terminology for once, you idiot?_

He stares at Claire in her cuffed, baggy blue shorts; she's wearing regular summertime apparel, but he wonders if Trent is going to take advantage of this attire tonight. If he's going to try and pry her legs open... if he’s going to convince her to go against her promise.

 _That isn’t_ _your concern,_ says one side of his conscience _._

 _But she’s seventeen!_ the other side argues.

“No, you don’t,” Gray stammers, unsure of how to get himself out of this one. “I mean, _he’ll_ see it as a situation, but-"

“My gosh, Gray, give it a rest!” Claire exclaims, putting her hand on her hip while shaking her head at him. Like he’s a hopeless case.

Because he is.

“Fine.” Gray nods, storming away.

* * *

“Can you stop fucking things up?” Ann asks from behind the bar the next day. She runs a few shot glasses under a stream of water from the bar sink, polishing them individually with her apron. She glares at Gray in irritation.

“I told you already, I’m incapable,” he mumbles, pressing his face against the tiled countertop. It’s cold against his skin, but it feels kind of soothing in a way. He eyeballs a shot glass in her hands. Ann catches his look, sighing. She pours a string of vodka in one, handing it to Gray reluctantly. He lifts his head up to down it back, his body scorching up all over again. _Claire won’t come to the bar, right?_ He’s not going to have to risk the pain of seeing her again, correct?!

“You look better already,” she remarks.

“Woohoo.” The miniscule amount of vodka may have been enough to burn Gray’s throat, but it hardly gives him a buzz. He's not even of age (as if that shit matters here), but he'd like more. _More would be good._

Ann looks thoughtful for a moment. “Your dream wasn’t bad.”

“It was awful.”

“Well, so many girls’ first times are like that. I _cried._ ”

Gray puts his cheek back against the frigid countertop, giving Ann a once over. “You did not.”

“I did!” she exclaims. “Not ‘cause I was emotional or anything, but because it friggin' _hurt_. You’ve only seen girls enjoying themselves ‘cause it _wasn’t_ their first time.” She pauses. “I mean, I hope that they enjoyed themselves with you.”

He ignores her comedic jab, because it isn't funny. “So _you_ didn’t enjoy your first time?”

“I didn’t come, if that’s what you’re wondering. But the guy did, in record timing.” Gray lifts his head, rotating the shot glass in his hand. He can’t help but chuckle. She just rolls her eyes. “Did you enjoy your first time?”

“I did,” he answers. The shot glass _clinks_ against the countertop as he places it down.

“The whole three minutes of it?”

“Shut up.”

Ann frowns. “What're you gonna do, Gray?”

“I’m going to avoid her.” Or at least, he’s going to keep trying to.

“Don’t you dare,” she snaps.

“Too late.”

“You’re dreaming about her 'cause you want her. And you dreamt about sex 'cause you miss having it,” Ann deduces. _A real Sherlock Holmes, this one is._ “Duh.”

“Gray, are you not getting any lately?” Doug strolls in from the back kitchen, holding a pot in his hand and wearing a smile on his face. He places the cooking vessel down, keenly waiting for a response.

It feels like the breath has been forcibly removed from Gray’s lungs, though.

Ann turns to her father, horrified. “Dad!” she screams, embarassed.

Gray puts his head right back down on the counter, wishing that he could die in this very moment. He doesn’t care if it’ll be from a heart attack, or if the fucking Grim Reaper himself wants to come down and remove him from this earth. _Death_ can get creative with how he goes.

“Ann, this isn’t something that a young woman should hear. Give us some privacy! This is a man to man, heart to heart that I have to have with Gray.” Doug tries shooing her away, but she stands her ground.

_Have to have?_ _Like this has gotta happen?_

“Daddy, leave!” Ann cries, widening her eyes. She pushes on his chest to make him go back to the kitchen, but her father is a burly man who doesn’t even budge from this action. She laughs in fearful exasperation, throwing in the towel.

“Sweetie, I don’t have a son,” Doug explains, like she’s completely unaware to this statement. He rubs his ginger handlebar moustache attentively. “And I’m sure that Gray doesn’t get to have these kinds of talks with his grandfather.”

_“GET” to have these talks? Like it’s a goddamn privilege?!_

Doug puts his hand on Gray’s shoulder, guiding him away from the bar, since Ann refuses to leave. He leads him to a spot beside the inn’s coat check closet, and just like that, a memory flashes before Gray’s eyes. But this is a good one, though; one that makes him happy. One that he wishes he didn’t take for granted when it happened.

It’s the moment when he gave Claire her first kiss in that very closet. When she asked him to press his lips to hers. When he did, and it felt electric. When he held her so close, that he could feel her racing heartbeat against his own. When he had yet to fuck things up for himself the day after.

“Well, you’ve done it before, haven’t you, son?” Doug asks, interrupting his thoughts.

Does he come across as a miserable virgin? “…Yes,” Gray reluctantly replies. He really, truly, honest to God does not want to entertain this bullshit.

But Doug’s treated him like family since he got to Mineral Town. Perhaps it was because he had trouble connecting with his own daughter, or because the presence of Gray’s father was severely lacking. He's a kind old soul, who experienced the loss of his wife nearly two decades prior. He understands this kind of pain.

He's also a big, bulky man, compared to his skinny-as-a-rail daughter. If he wanted to, he could surely kill Gray. He should kill Gray.

_He’d have every right to._

Doug looks proud. He really wouldn't be so proud if he knew of half the shit that Gray and Ann did in this very structure, but hey.

“When’s the last time you, how the kids say, scored a homerun?” asks Doug.

Gray keeps his head down, because he knows that even though they’ve moved away, Ann is still listening to every word of this dreadful conversation. He can hear her nervous snickers from behind the bar. “Hasn’t been _that_ long,” he answers, recalling the night that they all got completely hammered, and she surprised him in his room.

“Put yourself out there again! Whoever you did it with last, call her up again!”

“We’re finished,” he interrupts apprehensively. Ann ducks behind the counter, and he wonders if she’s laughing at his expense, or having a panic attack. Gray himself is doing a bit of both right now.

_Why is this conversation even going on?!_

“Was it that cute farmer?”

Gray drops his head against the wall. It’s an act of desperation, really. _Maybe if I get a concussion, I’ll either experience memory loss, or die on the spot right now._

“Daddy!” Ann shouts from across the bar, mortified. She doesn’t even bother pretending like she isn’t eavesdropping on the conversation anymore.

“Sorry for prying, Gray!” he barks, throwing his arm over his shoulder. He lumbers back to the bar with him, chuckling as Gray's head hangs low. “But you should really get yourself back out there!” Doug’s cheerful expression suddenly turns very serious. “When you do, though, make sure you go to confession. You wouldn’t wanna be a bad Christian.”

This is a stupid ideology, in Gray’s opinion. Shouldn’t it be a “you do or you don’t” kind of thing? What’s the point of confessing that you’ve sinned by having sex before marriage, if it's likely going to keep happening? _It’s like saying to God, “hey, sorry I had sex, it was great and I’m gonna continue doing it, but I’ll let you know when it happens another time so that I can come back, say four Hail Mary's, throw in an Apostle's Creed, and then be sorry all over again.”_ Maybe he's got it all wrong, but _yikes_ is all that he's thinking.

Then again, Gray hasn’t been to confession since... _jeez,_ probably since before junior high. He remembers being seven and asking for penance when he broke his father’s favourite mug without telling him. He instantly felt good as new after the priest listened and made him say a few prayers. He never ended up telling his dad, but he recalls feeling a lot better that at least someone as important as God knew of his secret.

“You think that I should?” Gray asks. Could a simple confession make him less guilty for all that he’s been feeling lately? _Could I possibly feel better?_

Ann’s eyes brighten instantly. “Go now! Carter will take you no problem.”

Gray pauses. If he leaves, that'll mean no more questions from Doug. No more having to pretend like he didn’t fuck Ann sideways in the very inn they were staying at. No more contrition, right?

Maybe.

“Good plan. I'm dippin',” he calls, darting out of the inn doors to hastily leave.

“There’s a mass going on right now, Ann,” Doug remarks, watching as Gray exits their establishment. “Why’d you send him there?”

Ann imagines Claire sitting in the front pew, waiting patiently for church to begin. “So that he can make up with said cute farmer,” she replies, pouring a shot of vodka for herself. She could really use one right about now.

* * *

Immediately as he walks in, Gray realizes that he’s been set up. Mass is _literally_ starting.

He’s going to kill Ann.

Because, of course, _of course_ Claire is there, sitting in one of the front pews.

She cranes her neck when she hears the church doors open, offering Gray a small smile, motioning him over. She doesn’t look mad at all. In fact, she looks glad to see him.

But he wants to leave. He wants nothing more than to leave. He _has_ to leave. Being around her is the very opposite of what he's been trying to accomplish.

As he’s readying his great escape, Carter waltzes in behind him. “Grayson, what a surprise!” The pastor smiles at Gray, the lines around his eyes crinkling in gratification. “It’s so nice of you to join us. Please.” He motions for him to sit beside Claire, who is still turned around peering at him.

And he’s really got no other goddamn choice.

“Why are you here?” she whispers to him, once he’s seated in her pew. Carter readies himself at the front, flipping through a copy of the Bible as he rapidly searches for today’s reading.

“To be washed free of sin,” he mutters. She laughs, even though he isn’t kidding. At all. “What’s your reason?”

 _Dumbass, stop conversing with_ _her!_

Almost immediately, Claire toys with her hair, tossing it over her neck so that Gray can’t stare at the damned trail of hickeys along her pulse. “To be with God,” she finally answers, clasping her hands in her lap.

 _Bullshit._ She’s got some guilt in her, too. _What did she do last night with Dr._ _Nimrod?_

 _That isn’t your business!_ maintains his least favourite side of his conscience.

An overwhelming, searing urge to protect her washes over him nonetheless. How can he rid himself from it? How can he stop worrying about her and just move on? She'll never want him the way that he's wanted her, and he’s got to learn to accept that.

But this isn’t even about leading her away from Trent so that Gray can have her. He ultimately just doesn’t want her to get hurt by this creep.

_This is not your concern anymore._

The bell at the front of the altar chimes, thankfully interrupting his fretful worries. Several residents of Mineral Town rise from their seats. Claire does the same, and Gray hurriedly follows her motions. He sits through the mass, listening to Pastor Carter’s soothing verses.

And even though he isn’t totally at peace, it’s almost as though he’s getting there.

She carefully listens to Carter’s every word. Gray registers that she looks totally messy today. Her overalls are dusty, she has bunch of grass blades stuck in her hair, and there's dirt caked underneath her fingernails. Polar opposite to how she looked yesterday. _She works on a farm, after all._ He was no cleaner when he finished his own shifts. But something about this image of her is so refreshing to him.

_No it’s not._ _It’s not because you’re through daydreaming about her._

Gray then realizes that she still has on the cross pin that he made her. _She really does always wear it, huh?_

When he shakes Claire’s hand for “peace,” he instantly recalls his father leaning over to kiss his mother’s cheek as a sign of “peace” when they used to all attend mass.

_The day that I do that crap._

Her hand is smooth against his own. “Peace, Gray,” she says, gifting him with another smile.

“Peace be with you, Claire,” he says, and for some reason, this feels like the closure that he needs. He doesn’t know why it does, but it does. He can still be her friend or whatever, but it's like he’s saying goodbye to loving her in a way. Relief washes over him when he releases her hand. Maybe going to church isn’t so bad after all.

They rise to receive host, and Gray even says his own prayer at the end of it all. The second that mass ends, he tells Claire an excuse about having to go to bed early, much to her puzzlement. He quickly leaves, convincing himself that he’s in the clear.

This is Gray’s send-off; his farewell to chasing after a fantasy that he’ll never achieve. He doesn’t have to agonize over Claire anymore, because she won’t be occupying his thoughts at all. This is his final goodbye without actually saying the words “goodbye.” Not as painful, but just as effective.

He wonders if he really is at peace, or just numb from all of the days prior.

“Go to bed,” Saibara says, the second that Gray walks in to Mineral Blacksmith. He frowns. How did his grandfather know of the excuse that he’d given to Claire minutes before? And just because he made up that excuse, doesn’t mean that he’d have to abide by it.

He hangs up his signature hat. “What're you talking about, Gramps? It’s still pretty early.” He intended on having a quick bowl of cereal, then calling up Kai to see if he wanted to come over and play some video games.

“Yeah, but we gotta be up before the crack of dawn,” Saibara replies. “Apparently, Sasha wants us to whip up a quick pin for her to wear to her daughter’s wedding tomorrow.”

The wedding; Rick and Karen's wedding!

_HOW COULD YOU FORGET?_

How could he forget that he's partnered up with Claire for it? How did this notion escape his mind? He'll be walking down the aisle with her, sitting with her, spending the entire night by her side. He pales at the whole thought of it all.

For _fuck’s_ sake.


	20. The Wedding

“I never thought that I’d be covering hickeys on _your_ neck, Claire,” says Popuri, leaning over to dab some more concealer over the bruised lovemarks along her friend’s pulse. One trails as low as her collarbone. Claire shifts in her seat, wondering how she thought tank tops and boyfriends could ever be a good mix.

“This is my first time getting one,” she says uncomfortably, craning her neck so that Popuri can apply what feels like fourteen layers of camouflaging pink powder. She didn’t think that Trent’s soft lips lavishing her could cause _this_ much damage. What started off as him harmlessly pausing the documentary that he intended on showing her ended with her being wrapped in a splatter of hickeys. They’re fading, but still alarmingly prominent.

Trent came out of it all unscathed, though. She couldn’t muster up the courage to bite and nip at his neck the way that he did for her, even if he kept prodding her to try and do so.

Ann has already slipped out of her overalls and into her bridesmaid dress. She pulls her hair into a sloppy ponytail, watching as Popuri’s brush swipes and pats its way across Claire’s neck. “ _One?_ Try, like, six.”

It’s only five; Claire knows this because she counted each purplish blob out. They look painful, suffocating her delicate skin like a choker. But it felt kind of nice to receive them. Maybe getting them even made her a little bit aroused, if she’s being honest. Her new territorial feeling doesn’t come without confusion, though. It's just that if Trent was paying attention to her neck, it meant that his hands wouldn’t be roaming around her body elsewhere; thus, helping her to feel more at ease and in control of the situation. Because Claire has been feeling very out of control around him lately. Kissing him is like sliding on ice, without the ability to get an easy grip.

“Men are _so_ dumb. And this clearly isn’t his first rodeo; doesn’t he know to keep ‘em hidden?” Karen asks incredulously. She leans over her vanity mirror, applying another layer of mascara while only wearing her bra and underwear. If her lashes weren’t coated in wet blackness, she’d surely be rolling her eyes right now.

Turning to Ann, she grabs a new mascara wand, pointing it at her. “Nooo way, you are _not_ putting makeup on me today. I don’t care if you throw a bridezilla fit!”

Karen laughs as she chases her with the mascara, still clad only in her undergarments. The scar along her abdomen looks extra red today. Claire doesn’t understand how she's walking down the aisle in less than an hour, while still acting so blasé about everything. It’s kind of inspiring, in a way.

Sasha gathers the ruching of her mother-of-the-bride gown in her hands as she carefully trots up the stairs to her daughter’s room. A jewel-encrusted brooch, shaped like a vine leaf, glints on the thick straps of her dress. “Karen!” she snaps, watching as the bride-to-be aims her mascara wand at Ann like a weapon. “Why aren’t you dressed yet?!”

Karen stops right in her tracks, dismissing her mother with a shrug. Apparently, she isn't afraid of Sasha's self-proclaimed "Russian fury" today. “Ma, calm yourself,” she says, dropping the mascara to the floor. She walks over to the edge of her bed, where her wedding gown as been laid out of its plastic casing. She reaches her arms behind her to remove the clasps of her bra, letting her breasts fall.

Sasha facepalms at the sight of Popuri widening her eyes at Karen’s chest. “Karen, have you no class? And really, in front of Rick’s little sister?”

“Nothing Rick hasn’t seen before,” Ann mutters under her breath. Popuri groans, giving her a “please-don’t-make-me-think-of-my-brother-in-that-sort-of-context” look, before burying her head in her hands.

Karen holds out a pair of sticky pasties, placing them over her nipples. “Are these straight?” she asks Claire.

Claire tilts her head, not understanding why it would even matter. “Uh, I think?”

“ _Seriously,_ Karen?” Sasha rubs her temples as her daughter slips into her strapless wedding dress. Karen shimmies it over her legs and hips, covering her intimate, exposed flesh at last.

She waves her hand flippantly, adjusting the gown accordingly. “I literally don’t care. We all have tits.” She glances at Ann. “Well, _some_ of us do.” Sasha walks behind Karen to tighten the lace against her back aggressively, as though this might act as a different form of discipline for her adult daughter.

While Ann bickers with Karen, Popuri and Claire take this opportunity to change into the matching bridesmaids dresses that have been carefully selected for them. Karen chose an A-line cut in a baby yellow colour, the kind of hue that tends to wash out people who are as pale as them. It wraps into a tie-back halter design on the top, with a v cut in the back. The designer must have taken inspiration from what Paris Hilton’s been wearing lately.

 _Of course, Karen would pick something like this._ Although it initially made her nervous, what with the open back and all, she figures no one will be paying attention to her today. Plus, the church requires a shawl of some sort to cover up any bare skin regardless.

Popuri whisks Ann aside to properly pull her hair back after she's finished with Claire's makeup. Sasha turns, handing her some coffee-stained pieces of sheet music, smiling weakly. “Could you run out and give these to Mary, hun?”

Ann lets out a groan, but Popuri just knots her hair more forcefully. “She’s coming today?”

“I felt really bad for calling her a bitch,” Karen explains to Ann through her reflection in the mirror. “And for pulling her braid. Plus, Carter says that she plays all of the wedding masses, so I figured that making peace was the right thing to do.”

“Traitor,” Ann says from across the room, her grudge apparent and unconcealed. Karen pulls her eyelid down at her, while Sasha scolds her daughter once again. Claire just figures that this is as good a time as any to get out.

* * *

“Hey,” she says, gingerly tapping Mineral Town Library’s wooden doorframe with her knuckles. This action proves to be pointless though, because she’s already walked in. Mary has cracked the spine to another book from across the room, gazing at Claire over the flipped pages spread out on her desk.

“Hello, Claire.”

“What’s up?” she asks. Seeing at how trivial and dumb this question is, she decides to continue her sentence. “You don’t look dressed yet! Aren’t you coming to the reception?”

“This is… what I’m wearing to the church.” Mary folds her book over, flat on the desk, sizing Claire up. “That gown actually looks really nice on you.”

“Oh,” says Claire, taken aback. She feels rather washed out in it, if she’s being honest. Plus, she’s on her period, and the material isn’t the most forgiving on bloated stomachs like hers. “Thank you! That’s sweet of you to say.” _This can’t be the same person who lost her crap on Ann and Gray that night, right?_

Mary gives her a sad smile. “It’s no wonder guys like you so much.”

_Er, what?_

“They don’t,” she clarifies incredulously. The most any guy expressed that he “liked her” was when some idiot threw a “ **nice rack ;)** ” note at her in high school band practice. _And people say romance is dead._

Mary just stares at the spot on Claire’s neck where her hickeys are clearly not as covered as she’d like for them to be. _Oh, Trent,_ Claire realizes _. The only guy who’s ever liked me._ Sweet, handsome Trent. But besides him, there's really been no one else.

“To answer your question,” Mary says, rising to take the sheet music from Claire’s hands. “ _No_ , I won’t be going to the reception. I hardly want to attend the church, but they need an organist, and since Karen apologized, it seemed fitting.” She pushes her glasses further up her nose, squinting at the musical bars drawn out on the paper.

“Pretty sure everyone’s going, though,” says Claire, following Mary through the aisles upon aisles of books. She’s never been much of a reader, besides the Bible verses that she’d have to sift through back at the convent. _Why did Jesus curse the fig tree again?_ She's just always been able to absorb more of what she saw in television and film.

“Is your boyfriend?”

Her question catches Claire by surprise. How many people know that she and Trent are official? The thought of it all makes her giddy. “Well, he said that he might stop by, but he isn’t sure.”

“Then evidently, not _everyone_ is going.”

Claire laughs. “You always sound so smart,” she says, impressed. “Like your words have come straight out of a novel!”

Mary’s cheeks turn pink, as though she is reflecting on how to take this compliment. “I read _quite_ a bit.”

“Do you write?”

“Look, I’d just rather just not engage in social interaction tonight.”

“Jeez,” says Claire. “You remind me of-"

“Gray?” Mary finishes, arching a brow. Talking to her like this, Claire doesn’t feel intimidated at all. That fateful night at the inn could have just been a night of mistakes for _everyone._ Maybe Mary's built-up anger and wary demeanor has just been a protective front all along.

“Well, kind of.”

“Hmm.” The librarian gets a thoughtful look on her face.

“Am I missing something?” Claire asks, puzzled. “Don’t you hate him?”

“What?” She furrows her brow. “Oh, no. I hate Ann, and I suppose that he just got caught up in the crossfire of my disdain.”

 _Definitely talks like a novelist._ “Why don’t you like her? Because they slept together?” Claire is suddenly very curious. Where does the origin for this amount of detestation begin?

Mary shakes her head, pieces of her loose braid tumbling out of their place. “As if that’s the main focal point. It runs _much_ deeper than that.”

“… I see,” Claire says, glancing at the clock above the tallest bookshelf. The wedding is set to commence in less than fifteen minutes, and Popuri _still_ has to finish her hair. Given how much of it that she has, this is no one-and-done quick task.

“Also, if you think that I hate _everyone_ who associates with her,” Mary continues. “Then that’s also not the case.”

 _Definitely seems to be the case for Ann, though._ “So you don’t hate me then?”

“Ugh.” She rolls her eyes, returning back to her desk. A stack of books are loaded to the left of her, high and teetering, like pieces of a _Jenga_ game about to fall. “This is juvenile and silly.”

“Do you?”

“No,” Mary finally replies, as though this has required some serious thinking. “I mean, it really wouldn’t kill you to come by here and check out a book every once in awhile, but I don’t hate you.”

“Ah,” she says, feeling her intelligence mildly insulted. “Tell you what: I’ll read a book that you recommend to me, if you come to the reception tonight.”

Claire isn’t exactly sure why she’s trying hard to do this. She’s never been one to have a lot of friends, but living here makes her want to be cool with everyone. Plus, it isn't easy to be introverted in a town full of extroverts. There’s also two sides to every story, and she really doesn't know either of them.

And then, there's the fact that she doesn't want Mary to be all alone tonight, with just these books around her.

But, what if Mary _was_ just purposely trying to be mean spirited that night? Maybe she made her bed, and now she has to lie in it. 

“I’m through with deals,” answers Mary, looking off into the window disdainfully. “And betting, and all that crap.” Claire wonders what she means by all of this, until a hardcover book from the top of the stacked pile is jutted in her face. “But take out this one out regardless. I promise that you’ll enjoy it.”

* * *

“Why do Mary and Ann hate each other so much?” Claire asks, clasping the cross pin that Gray made for her over the thin fabric of her dress. Popuri twists her hair above her head. _She’s gonna rip out my scalp!_

“You saw what happened at the inn that night, didn’t you?” She secures the top knot with a tawny brown claw clip, marvelling at her work in the mirror.

Claire ruffles her bangs over her forehead. “No, I mean like, where’d it start?”

“Something about their moms, I’m not too sure,” Popuri answers, sighing. “Anna always likes to get in people’s business.”

“Sasha and Manna gossip just as much, though,” she says, but Popuri’s already getting ready to leave, standing excitedly next to Karen and Ann by the front door.

* * *

Three shots of vodka can really work wonders for someone as sleep deprived as Gray. He leans outside the church, relishing in the buzz that he’s feeling from all the alcohol he consumed at Rick’s house earlier. He’s been up since four, making that damn olive branch brooch for Sasha, and has already planned for the amount of drinking that he's going to need to compensate for this shitty night.

With the rest of the townspeople already inside, Rick follows his mother through the church doors. He's visibly shaking from his nerves, but Lillia tries to gently console him. _Someone needs a lot more than vodka_.

Gray has already decided that he isn’t going to get married. As nihilistic as it sounds, there’s really no point to marriage. It always ends, in one way or another; whether it’s by divorce or death. Even if he miraculously did have a change of heart, his mother obviously wouldn’t be there in attendance.

“Drunk sex is the _best_ sex,” Kai says, throwing his arms around Gray and Cliff. All that he’s been talking about since this morning is how wasted they’re all going to get tonight at the party. Gray’s already got a head start.

Cliff gives him a quizzical look. “Um, arguably I’d say that it's the most _regrettable_ kind of sex _.”_

 _He’s right on that one._ Gray thinks back to that night where he found Ann half-naked and perched on his bed, the taste of wine on both of their lips.

“Nah.” Kai waves his hand dismissively. “It’s loads of fun.”

 _Loads._ “Don’t be gross,” Gray says with a laugh. “We’re about to go to mass.”

Karen and her parents walk over to the front of the church, with Mary silently following behind them, clutching some antique sheet music for the organ in her hand. Gray wonders when she and Karen made peace, or how Ann feels about all of this. She’s always been the worst for holding grudges.

The sun beats down on him as he brings his black cap over his head. It’s a ridiculously hot and bright day, the kind that most girls would typically envision for their wedding. Karen basks in the sunlight, her bare leg exposed from a purposeful slit in her dress. She’s left pieces of her highlighted hair down to frame her face, the rest of it pulled back with a thousand bobby pins and an entire can of hairspray. From beneath her veil, her green eyes sparkle as she clutches Jeff's hand.

Gray getting married would also likely mean having his father attend the wedding. Which would mean inviting him. Which would mean speaking to him. _No thanks._

Mary quietly darts inside of the church at the sight of Ann running up the road with May. Claire and Popuri follow, clutching Stu’s hand and laughing. Almost immediately, Gray can hear the church bells chime, while the organ resonates. Karen’s bridesmaids quickly walk over, waving at the suited groomsmen in their matching yellow dresses. Ann clings to Cliff, and the music vibrates as they begin to make their way inside.

Claire steps next to Gray, clutching a bouquet of candy coloured pinkcat flowers in her hands. “Dang, church two days in a row? This must be a new record for you,” she says, winking at him. The frosty shimmer on her eyelids glints in the sun.

How is he supposed to ever tell this girl goodbye?

Despite their constant disagreements, Gray knows that Claire considers him to be a big part of her life, and vice versa. They're best friends, according to her. So why can’t he just feel that same way? Why’d he have to go and confuse everything by falling for her?

_Maybe I'm just infatuated._

_Or maybe it's real._

He just nods at her, keeping his eyes fixed forward. The less that he speaks to her, the easier this will all be in the end, for the both of them.

Before it's their turn to walk in, Claire quickly rushes over to where Karen is standing, grinning as she throws her arms around the bride.

“You look beautiful. I’m so happy for you!” she says, hugging her while clutching the bouquet tightly. _Why does she have to be so pure at heart?_ Why’d he have to be so attracted to her as well? _Why couldn't she just be cruel and nasty?_ “Love you, Karen.” The two girls smile at each other, blinking back tears.

 _What are they even crying about?_ Gray used to think that he understood girls, but lately, he isn’t so sure. Claire quickly returns to his side.

“What are you doing?” he finds himself asking her, against his better judgement. He blames it solely on the buzz.

They walk up the steps of the church. “It’s all so emotional,” Claire says, dabbing at her inner corner with her pinky finger.

“Is it really?” Gray looks at her dubiously. Behind them, May and Stu are arguing about who is more important: she, the flower girl, or he, the ring boy.

Claire wraps her arm around Gray’s, walking carefully up the steps of the church in her heels. He figures that there’s really no point to her wearing these painful shoes, since they hardly give her additional height on anyone. Her stature is still right below his shoulder blade.

“Karen flashed me this morning,” she says plainly.

“Um, _what?”_ He isn’t sure that he’s heard her correctly.

Claire shrugs, then smiles as they step into the church. “We’re practically sisters now.”

Yeah, he _really_ doesn’t get girls.

* * *

Maybe Gray should always do a couple of shots before church, because the wedding mass feels like it’s going by exceptionally quick. He and Claire sit in a pew in front of his grandfather, as Rick swipes at his eyes at the alter, across from Karen.

“Get a grip,” Kai groans under his breath.

Claire turns to him tearfully. “It’s just all so emotional!” she tells him quietly. Gray wonders how many times she’s going to use that as an excuse to bawl today.

“He wasn’t talking to you, Blondie,” he says, hardly concealing a smile. Before long, Rick and Karen are exchanging their own vows, while Carter lets everyone know that it's time to give peace.

Claire turns herself to face Gray’s grandfather behind them. “Peace be with you, Saibara,” she says, taking his hand and kissing his cheek. Beyond his thick eyebrows, Saibara’s eyes light up. He quickly averts his attention to his grandson.

“Uh, peace be with you, Gramps,” Gray says. He shakes his grandfather’s hand, before turning to Kai, Popuri, and then finally, Claire.

“Peace be with you, Gray,” she says, taking his hand, and is this déjà vu?

_No._

Déjà vu is reliving the same thing. This doesn’t have to be the same thing.

This can be different.

 _Ah, what the hell_. Amidst the alcoholic fog of his brain, he decides that it's a grand idea to lean in and kiss Claire’s cheek. His lips linger for almost a second too long on her face before he quickly pulls back.

“Peace be with you, Claire,” Gray tells her. She just smiles at him, and it makes him forget his dumb mantra entirely. He accepts his inability to forget about her. He can’t cut her out; no freaking way. He doesn’t care if he’s only known her for a season. He’s got a lifetime to get to know her more. He’s never wanted someone to stay in his life more than he does right now.

Before long, Carter announces that Karen and Rick are officially man and wife. The two share kiss at the front, while everyone claps and cheers for them. Claire looks over at them hopefully, her eyes glistening with moisture.

Gray keeps his gaze on her, though. If he’s really taking on a nihilistic approach to weddings, then there’s no point to getting married.

But there’s also no point to _not_ getting married either.

And maybe, just _maybe,_ a wedding wouldn’t be so bad after all, if Claire is the one standing across from Gray at the altar.

Maybe this is all the alcohol talking.

But maybe he doesn’t mind.


	21. The Front

Claire hugs her navy blue shawl around her, walking next to Gray as Rick and Karen run down the steps of the church for the first time as a married couple.

She catches him by surprise. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did.”

Claire sticks her tongue out. “Do you notice... anything on my neck?”

“What?” Gray asks. “You mean the trail of hickeys that I can still see underneath your makeup? No... not at all.”

She groans. “I knew it was noticeable.”

“Carter probably saw them from where he was standing at the front.”

“Ugh, Gray.”

“Just being honest.” He pauses. “It’s like, a million degrees outside. Why are you still wearing that sweater?”

“It's a _shawl,_ and _duh,_ you're not allowed to show any skin in church.”

“Church is over."

“Church is _never_ over,” says Claire, wiggling her fingers at him. She gestures up toward the bright sky. "God is always watching."

“Sorry, forgot what a good girl you are.”

She bites the inside of her cheek, a telltale sign of her obvious nerves; he's come to know this. “My dress is backless, Gray.”

“Oh.” He forgot about her scars for a second there. The grafts of her skin that trace their way next to the crevices of her spine, jagged and tender, a painful reminder to her own tragedies. The ones that mean absolutely nothing to him, but just about everything to her.

She looks at him, then unclips her hair, letting it tumble loosely down her shoulders. Her locks are clamped with tight curls that haven’t had any time to breathe; she maneuvers them to cover her neck.

“Do you think that’s better?” asks Claire.

He pauses, suddenly feeling very brave. Not brave enough to hide his blush, though. _Thank you, alcohol, for giving me an excuse to do dumb shit._ “Here,” Gray mumbles, his cheeks feeling hot. He pulls out a pinkcat flower from Claire’s bouquet, tucking it in the wispy strands of hair behind her ear. “That’s… better.”

* * *

He decides that tonight of all nights is a great opportunity to check what his alcohol tolerance is, for some reason. What better night could there be to test this, than at the inn with the entire town present? Alcohol doesn’t make him shy. It makes him _fun_ to be around, according to everyone who’s written him off as a miserable fuck before seeing him drunk. He has to wait to embark on his drinking-binge, though, because Karen and Jeff are sharing their father daughter dance during dinner. Claire practically sobs next to him.

“Blondie, what's your deal?” Gray readies himself for her illogical answer.

“It’s so emotional!” she says, her voice breaking from the raw passion in this statement. _Yep, there it is._ “I really love weddings.”

“Why do you 'really love' weddings?”

“I dunno. They’re so magical.” The lights have been heavily dimmed. Claire looks over at Karen wistfully, as her white gown sways across the dance floor. She's holding onto her father, tears surprisingly streaming down her face.

“It’s just a church mass and a party,” Gray says.

“It’s _so_ much more than that!”

“You’re right, it’s another excuse to drink.” Gray takes a sip of his champagne, and realizes that he needs something _way_ stronger than this pathetic apple juice.

“Ugh, Gray, don’t you _ever_ want to get married?” Ann asks, wagging her eyebrows at him.

“Pfft, you're wacked.”

Claire drops her voice low, so that only he can hear her. “Did your parents have a good marriage?” she asks him inquisitively, catching him by surprise again.

“Yeah,” Gray says, his face flushing. "They did." And it's true. Before the bullshit hit his family like a ton of bricks, his parents were very much in love. Before his mother’s cancer happened, before his father used drugs to self-medicate, before the insufferable anguish, they _were_ once really happy.

“I’ve always dreamt about my wedding,” Claire sighs, smiling at Karen from across the room. She wipes the rebel tears that have rolled down her cheeks hastily.

“Lucky you, most people in Mineral Town get married pretty young,” Popuri tells her with a laugh, looking over at Kai longingly. She had been the one to catch the bouquet that Karen threw an hour ago, which apparently meant that she'd likely be the next one to get married (Gray was previously unaware to this dumb tradition). Claire’s cheeks go all rosy at the mention of this, and he figures that his time to start drinking is long overdue.

After they're finished eating, he practically runs to the bar, doing two Jägerbombs with Cliff and Ann. He then downs back four Fireball shots with Karen, Kai and Popuri. _Or, maybe I did more._ Gray’s lost count; Doug just keeps 'em coming. Surprisingly, Manna, Duke, and Harris even join in with them. Claire and Rick, sober as ever, cheer Saibara on when he steps in to do a couple, much to his consternation. Maybe Gray started drinking way too early in the night.

But, he's usually able to sober up pretty quickly. That just means that he'll be good for later, so that he can drink _more._

Good choices. Good choices all around.

He's apparently convinced Claire to take a _sip_ of his tequila. “Ah, it _burns_!” Claire hollers, stifling a laugh.

“You were supposed to lick some salt!” Popuri giggles, searching for the shaker on the bar counter.

“Where’s the lime?” Ann asks, downing back her tequila with ease.

Gray takes the rest of it, downing it back while sharing a grin with her, and maybe this wedding isn’t so bad after all.

Karen has popped in a CD of her favourite hits from this decade, the stereo pounding on the dance floors as she dances with Claire to that "Jenny from the Block" song that his mom used to like. Gray’s eyes stay fixated on her the whole time. He wants run over there, kiss her, pull her away from it all. Away from Cliff swinging Ann around, from Popuri making out with Kai by the bar, from Trent searching for-

Wait.

_What?_

He hasn’t spotted her yet. Trent’s carefully combing through the room, obviously trying to locate Claire amongst the townspeople. Dismayed, Gray rushes towards her, catching whatever stupid is in the air.

“C’mon,” he says, tugging her toward the middle of the dance floor. 

“My shawl!” she exclaims, as it falls from her shoulders. He stands across from her, all wobbly, as if they’re about to enact that dancing scene from _Pulp Fiction._

“You… you don’t need that, Blondie,” Gray tells her. "You don't... need to cover up your scars. You... _never_ do."

Claire looks up at him, her eyes big and blue. They look like the Curaçao and Sour Puss Raspberry mixed drink that he and Kai used to chug at high school parties. _Damn…_ He takes her hand, much to her surprise, and spins her around to the beat of the song. _Is this "Ride with Me?" Or "Pony"... fuck, I don't listen to any of this shit._

“How are you such a good dancer?” Claire asks him suspiciously, trying to raise her voice over the music. Gray spins her again, while Ann drops herself low next to Cliff beside him.

 _It’s the alcohol._ “How're _you_ such a terrible one?” Gray slurs back, and she snickers.

“Uhmm, because you’re making me dizzy!”

“Don’t you… don’t you blame your shitty dancing on _me,_ Blondie,” he says. Claire switches partners, grabbing Karen’s hands in attempt to feel the rhythm, while Ann and Cliff join her. From the corner of his eye, Gray can see Trent make his way to where they all are as "Oops I Did it Again" comes on. _Two reasons to get the hell off the dance floor._

“C’mere,” he says, taking her hand while whirling her to the bar, amidst the crowd of people. He wants two things: that mixed drink the colour of Claire’s eyes, and Trent to fuck on off. Doug polishes a shot glass thoughtfully, greeting them.

“Two… two Pornstars,” Gray requests, holding up two sets of fingers on both of his rough hands. 

“That’s four,” Claire tells him, laughing. The knot on her halter dress is coming undone, so she reaches her arms above her head to retie it. Her honey hair spills loosely around her, and this action makes her look so effortlessly sexy. Gray can’t really explain why, though; he’s too drunk. He just knows that he likes it.

“I know my math, Blondie,” Gray says as Doug hands him both of the shots skeptically.

“I dunno, Gray,” Claire says uncertainly. She’s looking down at the little glass that he’s given her, like it holds the answers to everything. “Will it sting going down?”

“It’ll feel… so good going down.”

Great, now he's thinking about going down on her one day. Is that even allowed?

_No, it fucking isn’t._

But he still wants to pull her away from all of this, still wants to ask her if he can bury his dumb face between her legs. Has Claire ever even come before?

Stupid teenage hormones. _This is the alcohol talking, this is the alcohol talking, this is the alcohol talking._

No it’s not.

Gray clinks his shot glass next to her, and downs it back, like this will clear his mind. She does the same, her expression brightening.

“Hey!” Claire says, eyes sparkling. “That wasn’t bad at all!”

 _Why_ does he want to taste the drink on her tongue so badly? What is wrong with him?!

“It’s like… a _Jolly Rancher_ , Blondie,” Gray says. He just realizes now that the pinkcat flower is still nestled in her hair, like it’s always belonged there. Wasn’t he the one who placed it? “Hey… don’t… _you_ have a ranch?”

She grins. “Um, good observation?”

“Thanks." He tips his hat like a cowboy, bringing her back to the dance floor. "You okay?"

Claire nods. "Surprisingly, yeah. I'm like, guessing that didn't have a high alcohol percentage, right?"

He shrugs, ignoring this sentence, because it sounds a whole lot like something her stupid boyfriend would say. "Can't Stop" by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers blasts on, and he can't help but shift to a smile. "Do you know this song?"

"Um, I know it's by those people that you have a poster of in your room."

"The poster of the models... or the Red Hot Chilli Peppers poster that I got?"

"I can't with you, Gray," she laughs.

This isn't exactly a song that he can hold her to, but he's having too much fun to care. He sings along to the lyrics, and she tries to join in with him, shuffling her feet and throwing her head back to snicker. And then that song by Switchfoot slowly comes on... the one that every girl used to request at high school dances when they wanted their crush to notice them.

Claire smiles up at him. "Do _you_ know this song?"

"No. Not really."

"It's called 'Dare You to Move' from this movie I love. It's actually a religious one, and-" She pauses worriedly. "Are you okay?”

Gray can't stop gazing at her. Is he dreaming any or all of this? His brain is foggy, but Trent is nowhere in sight. Did he get both of what he wanted? _Such a concept._

“Never… better,” he mumbles.

The pairs in the wedding party get together for this slow dance, holding each other almost instinctively. Claire doesn’t press herself against him like they did at the inn that night, though. _She knows better, she’s got a boyfriend now, she’s leaving room for Jesus, the usual._ While still trying to be respectful amidst his intoxicated haze, Gray moves an inch closer, his hands on her waist and hers on his shoulders. He isn’t sure if he’s swaying, or the room.

“Gray, are you sure you’re alright?” Claire stares at him worriedly. _Yeah_ , he’s definitely the one drunkenly swaying.

He doesn't meet her eyes. Because if he does, he’ll surely kiss her. “I told you, Blondie… never better.”

“I think that you’re wasted,” she tells him. “Know how I know?”

“How?” He spins her slowly, the bottom of his loafers making a tapping noise on the ground. “Besides the fact that I prob’ly reek of alcohol.”

“Um, that,” she says with a giggle. “And your Chicago accent _really_ comes out.”

Gray could hear himself all evening talking with that rough dialect… he just didn’t know she could hear it, too. “Where’re you from again?”

“Boston,” Claire says, putting on the accent heavily, so it sounds more like _“Bahstan.”_ “I told you that.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did so.”

He barks out a laugh. “Maybe... _you_ need to get wasted... so that your full accent can come out, Blondie.”

She smiles, but her brows quickly knit apprehensively. “Do you miss Chicago, Gray?”

Gray doesn’t mean to, but his hands tighten on her waist. He wants Claire to throw her arms around his neck so that he can pull her against him, breathe her in, hold her closer. “That _was_ my home. But... I don't think I can ever... go back.”

“So, is this your home now?”

"No."

She watches him sadly, her hand on her chest, hovering over the beating of her own heart as the song slows to an end. Gray finally allows his eyes to bore into hers, as he swallows back a lump in his throat. Why can’t the alcohol help him to tell her that _she_ feels like home? That when she’s next to him, he doesn’t give a fuck if he’s in Forget-Me-Not-Valley, or the Sunshine Islands, or even Mineral Town, because all that matters is her?

He looks down at Claire. At her ocean-blue eyes, like water from the deepest part of the sea. At her tousled hair, the colour of spun gold, cascading down her shoulders. At the smattering of sun freckles on her nose, at the translucency of her fair complexion, at each scar colliding against the skin of her back, visible only when he spins her around. He wants to trace them with his fingers, like those mazes that you have to find your way out of.

The flower in her hair is falling out of its place. With shaky hands, he adjusts it gently, and then there’s a tap on his shoulder. Judging by the eager expression on Claire’s face, Gray doesn't need to be a psychic to know who it is.

“Hi, Trent!” she exclaims, grinning.

He turns to see Trent’s left eye twitching. “What’s… up, doc?”

“Mind if I cut in?” Trent asks in a levelled tone, pushing Gray away with his hip. He stumbles to the side, regaining his composure quickly as "If I Ain't Got You"by Alicia Keyes comes on.

“You know where I’ll be,” Gray says, strolling over to the bar. Only this time, the walk to it is lonely and isolated.

Kai and Popuri still have yet to come up for any air in the corner of the bar. They've been making out for the last hour, so he figures that they can easily just get a damn room. “I’ll have a Jack Daniels,” Gray tells Doug, dragging his palm over his jaw. He feels like he could fall into a peaceful, deep sleep at any minute now.

“Make that two,” says Karen, strolling over to knock Gray with her shoulder. “'Sup?”

“I’ll have some water,” says Rick, glaring at Kai and his sister.

“Don’t be boring. Make that three,” Karen says, before glancing over at Gray. “You look like shit!”

“Thanks, Kare.”

“Make that four,” Trent calls from faraway. The slow songs are over, and given how late it is, the night is nearly over too. He walks with his arm thrown around Claire's waist, clinging close to her.

“You want one, hun?” Doug asks her, pouring the amber-coloured whiskey into individual glasses for everyone.

“Oh, no thank you!” she says.

Gray sips his drink, but extends it to her with tremoring hands. “You’d like it, Blondie," he says, as she tentatively takes it.

“She wouldn’t,” Trent cuts in, snatching the drink from her. Claire rolls her eyes, grabbing it back.

“I'll be the judge of that,” she says, plucking a straw from Doug to sip it. She makes a wretched face when the taste enters her mouth.

“Sexy,” Trent tells her with a wink, leaning in to kiss her.

“Yikes,” Claire snickers, peeling Popuri off of Kai, as if this sip of whiskey has given her a newfound burst of energy. She runs on to the dance floor with Popuri, while Ann joins them, giggling like mad.

“You remember me, don’t you?” Trent says, after he catches Gray staring at Claire once again. Karen and Rick shift away uncomfortably, avoiding the confrontation that's about to transpire.

“How could I forget?” He takes a swig of his drink, relishing in the burn that it leaves in his throat. He unknots his bowtie, wanting Claire so badly right now, more than he’s ever wanted anyone in his entire life. He needs to just go back in time, before he drank all of this booze, so that he can hold her close again.

“You can’t blame your mother’s death on me,” Trent snaps. He places his drink down roughly, glaring at Gray, who in turn lets out a low chuckle.

“I can,” he says. “And I do.”

“Is that why you want to fuck my girlfriend? You're trying to get back at me?”

 _Whoa._ Gray stares at him dizzily. _No way this asshole just said that._ “I don’t.”

“You don’t?” Trent picks up his drink again, leaning back to swallow it in its entirety, like the alcohol doesn't faze him. “That’s interesting, because I think that you're fucking lying.”

“Claire's my friend,” he says, and it’s the truth; it’s the honest to God truth. She _is_ his friend. Before everything else that he’s felt, Claire has been his friend first. It’s just that something happened inside of him along the way.

Gray will be the first one to admit what a piece of shit that he is. Sure, he’s miserable, and a grouch, and a horny dumbass, and foul-mouthed as hell, but he’s not a bad guy; he's always been there for people. If Claire wants him in her life, then he'll gladly be there for her, whether it's to shield her from this jealous cunt, or to prevent her from flying too close to the sun. And if that means forgetting about his feelings for her, or pushing them aside as though they never existed, then so be it. Maybe he actually only loves her and cares for her as a friend.

_Well, I’ve thought about her in ways that you don’t typically think of friends in._

This could all just be some drunk bullshit philosophy that he’s conjured up. But one thing’s for sure: Claire _is_ friend, and he wants to keep this friend safe and in his life.

“Fuck you,” Gray mutters, feeling like the same angry person that he was after his mother received her terminal cancer diagnosis. The version of himself who fought his way through pain and turmoil; the one who frightened others around him.

“You need to stay away from her," Trent warns. "I mean it. She’s pure, and she doesn’t need to be tainted by the likes of _you_.”

_That’s what he wants? A girl who’s squeaky-clean?_

“Pure?” Gray asks. “Is _that_ what gets you off?”

“Gray, she’s a good girl. You can’t just tarnish her.”

“You oughta leave her alone, you fuckin’ creep.”

“I’m a creep?” Trent lets out a breath, but he isn’t laughing. He’s fuming. “At least I’m not trying to take what isn’t mine.”

Like Claire is his property... like she belongs to him. “You’re a creep ‘cause you’re goin’ after a younger girl,” he mumbles. “She's seventeen... she's a fuckin' _minor_."

"You are so damn jealous. You can't just be happy for her?"

"Like hell I'm gonna be happy for her. Why can't you just date someone your own age? _"_

"I'm allowed to have a preference," Trent says calmly. "And she's almost eighteen."

"You cocky sonuvabitch." Gray shakes his head in disbelief. "I’m from Chicago, and I really don’t give a shit. I will literally-"

“Oh, I know exactly where you're from. I did my damn residency there. I _remember_ you. But I’m from Dallas, and I’m not afraid to fire.”

 _The fuck does that even mean?_ Could this guy get any lamer?

“I swear to God, if you touch her, I’m gonna fuck you up 'fore Officer Harris gets a chance to.” Gray pushes aside the drink; his head is pounding, and suddenly, he doesn’t feel like a fun drunk anymore. He’s aggravated and doing his best to resist the urge to knock Trent’s goddamn smug lights out.

He'd win the fight anyway. He's not cocky, he just knows.

Trent blinks. “Too. Late,” he says, a smirk slowly forming across his mouth.

And Gray lunges for him. He drunkenly staggers over though, missing his steps and falling. The floor feels cool against his face, and on the bright side, his head isn't pounding anymore. _That might actually be a bad sign, though._ Trent notices the crowd gathering around them, and good-naturedly kneels down to help him up.

“Stay away from her,” he says through grit teeth, lowering his voice. His expression quickly shifts to a smile, because he's fooled everyone and mastered the art of wearing a mask like the fucking psychopath that he is. He extends his hand, but Gray refuses to take it.

Claire rushes over, gathering her dress in her hands as she runs to him. “Gray, are you okay?” she asks, her eyes all worried and watery-blue. So deeply fucking blue.

“Gray’s having some trouble holding his liquor, Claire,” Trent explains to her, professional as ever. “However, given the amount of food that he’s likely eaten tonight, and with a stature such as his, I’d reckon that this is due to an overconsumption of highly concentrated alcoholic beverages. You see-”

She just ignores this condescending medical explanation, which seems to annoy him greatly. “Are you okay?” she asks again, looking at Gray anxiously. He merely nods his head. He doesn’t care; he’ll show that fucking doctor.

He rises with forced ease, sobering up as best as he can, like he’s done a hundred times before. He’s a little unsteady, but he’ll manage.

“Never better,” Gray tells her, grabbing Rick’s glass of untouched water from the bar, sipping it lightly. The straw misses his mouth a couple of times, and his hands are still quivering a bit, but Claire smiles in relief, and he really does feel better already. She looks like she’s about to say more to him, until Trent urgently whisks her away, out of the inn doors, as the party diminishes to an end.

Although Gray pretends like he's fine, he’s still very much drunk. And is unfortunately feeling both incredibly brave, and incredibly stupid.

So he darts after them like a paranoid idiot.

“Gray, I-" Kai begins, but Gray isn’t listening. He’s already gone out the doors.

“Was gonna ask you for something... but now I don't remember.” Kai frowns, feeling woozy himself. He and Popuri drank _way_ too much tonight, but his girlfriend’s mouth on his makes any notion in his head very forgettable. They run upstairs to his room, with both Rick and Karen nowhere in sight, as their drunk lips mash against one another hungrily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk about you guys but I wanna know what happens to Kai in the next chapter ಠ_ಠ
> 
> drunk Gray is very much a mood
> 
> Thanks for sticking around during this period of writer's block that I'm feelin <3


	22. The Inebriated Blunder

Gray doesn’t have the heart to spy on her. He saw how upset she was when he merely peered out of his window on the night that she had her re-do date with Trent. And there’s really no benefit to making her mad again or repeating the same mistake twice. Plus, Claire mad is unsettling. It’s like seeing his high school teachers outside of their classroom and in a supermarket, wearing casual clothes.

No, what was supposed to be his espionage of eavesdropping merely turns in to him angrily pacing Mineral Town in an attempt to sober up further. When he returns to the inn, he finds a lone Doug wiping down the countertop, the lights dimmed. "Just What I Needed" by The Cars is playing on his little radio, an isolated melody that accompanies the squeaking sound of the cleaning supplies against the bar. 

“I think that this belongs to your date,” says Doug, gesturing toward one of the bar stools. Claire’s navy blue sweater or shawl or whatever the hell it is has been neatly placed on it. When Gray lifts it, it feels impossibly heavy in his hands, like it represents all of the baggage that he carries around in life… _or something_. But it smells like it should; the sweet, caramel scent of her intoxicating his nostrils. He massages his temples with one hand in an attempt to clear up his hazy mind.

“Sorry,” Doug says apologetically when Gray’s hand still rests on his forehead. He reaches beside him to turn the radio knob down, effectively lowering the music. “Just couldn’t stand those modern hits of today, y’know?”

Gray shrugs. The music is the last reason for his headache. “It’s alright. I like The Cars.” He pauses, scanning through his unclear brain to recall some of the rock and roll trivia that his stupid father used to ingrain in him. “Aren’t they from Boston?”

Doug beams at him. “Sure are. Let's go Patriots!" He pauses. "Wait, you’re not from there, are you?”

“Nope,” says Gray. “My ‘date’ is.”

Doug nods in agreement, leaning his arm against the coffee machine that everyone in town pitched in for as a gift for his fiftieth last year. “You don’t like that doctor she’s around, do you?”

A string of hate-filled sentences directed towards that POS crawl their way up Gray’s throat, but he just swallows them back. "Where’s Kai and Popuri?” he asks instead.

“They’re upstairs in his room; looked like he was getting himself lucky tonight!”

Gray hopes –no– he _prays_ that he won’t have to hear about the baseball metaphors of sex again. _Please, God, Jesus, whoever’s up there, anything but that._ He’s drunk enough to let anything slip in front of Doug. “How 'bout Ann and Cliff?”

“Oh, they went to go and talk about something.” Doug gestures toward the door to his daughter’s room, as if Gray didn’t already know its location. He can practically picture the sounds of bedsprings. Why Doug doesn’t think that those two are doing the exact same thing as Kai and Popuri is beyond him.

“If Kai asks, and only if Kai asks, then I’m going by Claire’s,” he says distractedly, clutching her knitted-thing. It’s cold against his fingers, lacking the warmth of her translucent skin against it. “To give this to her.”

“You been thinking about going there anyway, before I even gave you that,” Doug says, handing him a shot of espresso with a piece of toast bread over the bar counter. Gray is so lost that he didn’t even hear the grinding noise of the coffee machine being churned, or the sound of Doug opening the loaf's packaging. “It’s plain to see. Only now you got a good excuse to go.” He tosses him a wink as Gray absently downs his espresso back, the caffeine jolting his nerves awake almost immediately. 

He takes a bite of the bread, proceeding to leave, when a sex-scream erupts from a room upstairs. Doug just cranks his radio up about twenty notches louder with a “well-what’re-you-gonna-do?” sort of shrug.

_At least he won’t have to hear the bedsprings, or the loud vocals anymore._

* * *

“Did you enjoy your evening?” Trent asks, giving Claire’s hand a squeeze. His fingers are frosty against her own, like he just naturally possesses this characteristic to being a doctor. She wonders if his hands were once warm, and the second upon receiving his MD degree, suddenly turned icy.

“Yes,” she singsongs, smiling up at him. “Karen and Rick looked so happy.”

His steps are light in comparison to her heels clacking against the pavement. “Do I make you happy, Claire?”

She looks up at him, going on her tippy toes to kiss his cheek. “Obviously you do!” She pauses, then squeezes his hand back innocently. “I just want to make you happy.”

She’s so new at relationships, like a newborn opening their grey eyes for the first time; like a baby giraffe learning how to walk. Claire just hopes that she’s doing this one right.

“You do?” Although dark and usually unreadable, there is a glimmer in Trent’s eyes.

 _Was there a full moon for just boys that I’m not aware of?_ She tilts her head, then laughs. “Um, of course?”

Her boyfriend looks like he’s been waiting to hear these words for his entire life. He’s accomplished a methodical yet exuberant pep in his step as he walks eagerly next to her, his grip on her hand tighter. Claire stares at him questioningly as they stand outside of her farmhouse.

“What are you doing?” she asks, when Trent starts loosening up the backs of his loafers. How many drinks did he and Gray share at the bar together when she was off on the dance floor?

“Can I come in?” he asks, a little too fervently.

Claire’s come to know that look in his eyes all too well. She isn’t exactly in the mood for a full-on makeout session right now, but she also doesn’t want to be rude and turn him away from her, either. In her mind, allowing this will prevent an unnecessary fight.

“Sure,” she replies with a shrug. Trent just smiles, tousling her hair.

When they walk into her farmhouse, she doesn’t even have a chance to bother with the lights. In pitch blackness, Maggie barks as Trent presses himself instantly against her, his mouth insistent on her own. “Claire... _God,_ Claire, I just want to give you what you want.”

 _A good night’s sleep?_ “Ha, do you now?” she manages to say between kisses, her eyes shut tight.

His tongue prods against hers as he moans into her. Her eyes fly open; she’s never heard him this vocal before.

“I promise that I’m going to do my best to make you come,” Trent says, his hands winding their way around her.

Claire just blanks.

 _Come?_ _Come where?_ Where are they going?

“Trent, what are you talking about?” she asks, genuinely confused. Her question is dodged through the muffled sound of his intense kisses. To her surprise, Trent lifts her, throwing her back against the couch. As her head hits the armrest, she lets out a painful groan, to which Trent confuses as her being seductive.

“I know that you just want me to feel good, too,” he says, hovering over her. She stares up at him with wide eyes, rubbing the back of her head, her body sprawled under him. “The way that I do for you.” And then his hands find their way under the hemline of her dress, crawling up her thighs. Claire jerks her face away, letting out a gasp that evidently breaks their kiss.

_THIS IS WHAT HE MEANT?_

“O-o-oh,” she stammers, pushing his hand away. Instinctively, she crosses her legs and sits up, fidgeting in her seat while feeling rather stupid. She isn’t a child; she should have known that something like this was en route. Plus, she's seen _American Pie_ , _The Notebook,_ and _Titanic_. _Why am I so clueless?!_

Trent looks like a deflated helium balloon that’s been popped. He retreats himself back on her lumpy couch, shoulders slumping as if he's carrying the weight of her refusal on his shoulders. “You said… I thought this is what you wanted. I thought… that you wanted to make me happy.”

“I-I didn’t know that you meant in the physical sense of the word!” she exclaims, folding her hands in her lap. She looks down at them to avoid his blatantly disappointed expression, cheeks scorching with shame. “Trent, I just-"

“Is this a bad night?” he asks. Her face burns further.

“This is a very bad night. Actually, that _really_ wouldn’t be good… for any night.” _Come back if we’re married._

She did _not_ just think that, did she?

His voice is almost pleading. “Just tell me what it is.”

He takes note at her bleak expression. She wishes that she had her shawl to disappear beneath. _Where even is it?_ “Trent, I cant,” she says, chewing on her cheek. “I’m sorry that you got the impression that I ever wanted to.” They should have just ended their night at the door. It would have saved her from the embarrassment and Catholic guilt that she’s experiencing right about now. Can’t they just stick to talking? She _much_ prefers that.

Not that she doesn’t like kissing him, but it feels like overindulgence; like a tummy-ache right after having too many sweets.

Trent knits his brow, the way that he does when he’s trying to figure out those Sodoku puzzles that he does for fun. _Math cannot possibly be fun. Hard pass... no thanks._

“Are you on your menstrual cycle? Is that why?”

Claire widens her eyes. “Um, I am, actually.”

Trent nods, as if he gets it, as if he gets everything, but she feels like he isn’t really listening to the overall severity in her words. “I could tell. You seemed rather bloated and slightly temperamental today.”

“Oh,” Claire says, because what else is there to say? She knew that the fabric and colour of the bridesmaid dress was unforgiving, and hearing this come out of her boyfriend’s blunt mouth makes her desperately wish that she wore her Spanx. But she honestly didn’t think that she was acting moody today. Emotional, sure, but not moody; she just loves weddings. “Thanks.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to be so direct,” Trent says, annoyance sprinkled over his words. “Claire, do you know what epididymal hypertension is?”

 _This better not be another medical lecture._ She has to tell him now, or she’s never going to get around to it.

“Trent, listen,” Claire says. “I-"

“Because it’s really not comfortable, at all.”

She throws him a glare, continuing on as if he never interrupted her. Maybe she is being bitchy because of her period, but she doesn’t care right now. “That’s not the only reason that I can’t, though. You see-"

“Colloquially known as blue balls, and if you aren’t familiar with that, then-"

“I made a promise that I cannot break,” she says loudly, speaking over his voice. What is he even going on about? _Something blue? Blue balls?_

But Trent shoots up from the couch, running a hand through his thick hair. “Is it me, Claire? Is that it?!”

She hasn’t heard him yell like this. His normally calm demeanor has been packed up, thrown into a lock, and she really hopes to God that he hasn’t lost the damn key.

“No, Trent. My gosh, this _really_ isn’t about you right now!”

“So it’s not me.” He isn’t asking; he's breathing a sigh of relief, taking back his seat next to her.

Claire sighs, having moved on to chewing her bottom lip now. She refuses to make eye contact with him. _Sooner or later, it has to come out._ “You don’t understand, we _really_ can’t."

Trent’s hand reaches to grab her face, squeezing her cheeks like a fish so that she is meeting his gaze. He stares at her darkly. “I don’t understand? I don’t understand? Claire, I’m a doctor. It’s my _job_ to understand.”

And he brings his lips to hers, letting go of her face to stroke her wrist, as if he fears that she could break at any minute. Her heart is racing. _What's going on?_ Did she just mess everything up by upsetting him royally?

“I get it,” Trent says, kissing her long and hard again, reaching down to squeeze her hand like he did outside on the walk home. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. I let the alcohol speak for me, and got way too ahead of myself there. Sometimes, I just forget…” He lets his voice trail off as slow relief washes over her. “I’m sorry for snapping.”

When he presses his lips against her deeply, his tongue no longer prods, his hands no longer roam. _Maybe he does get it._ She feels her grasp on what they have together slowly returning, as though it never left her fingers.

“Claire?”

“Mmm?” she hums, her face still locked against his. Trent leans back on her couch, his fingers stretching across the scars that creep along her back. Claire would like to believe that they are their own separate entity, but the feel of someone touching them reminds her that they are all too real.

“What happened?” he asks, tracing each one with his middle finger. He isn’t looking at them, though; he’s merely feeling for the grooves of her skin, in between what she’d like to believe is her, and what she’d like to forget is her.

“Car accident that my mom and I were in, remember?” She says it so softly that she wonders if he’s even heard her. Claire pulls her face away, staring at him through the moonlight, saying this next part a bit louder. “Trent, she’s why I can’t.”

He nods. “They must have sewn in a lot of stitches, didn’t they?”

“Did you hear me?”

“Of course I heard you. Did you hear me?”

Claire sucks up a breath. “Yeah, I guess so.” Then: “Don’t tell me, I already heard it from one doctor that the hospital butchered them up pretty bad. That’s why the scars look _so_ jagged now.”

What did Gray say when he saw them, again? That they didn’t look bad, just looked like they hurt. They don’t hurt; it’s the reminder of them that’s painful.

“I can help you get rid of them, Claire,” says Trent, soothingly stroking each graft. She has shifted her gaze from a spot on the floor to the placidity of his face. “It’s called a scar revision procedure. It’s relatively new, but an effective form of plastic surgery nonetheless. We can consult my mentor, Dr. Hardy, for that.”

Claire stares at him, really stares, as if she’s expecting Trent to jump out and shout, _SIKE!_ “You mean that? You really do?” Her voice is edged with hopefulness. Is this real? Is her boyfriend, or this Hardy, her saviour?

Trent kisses her deeply, rising to collect his coat once again. “I know how self-conscious you must be about them. But don’t worry.” He smiles. “We can fix that.”

Claire throws her arms around him gratefully, bouncing on her heels. “Oh wow, thank you, thank you!”

“Anything for you,” Trent says, his black swoopy hair falling into his eyes. She raises her fingers to comb through it, beaming at him. “When’s your birthday, Claire?”

“In a couple of weeks. Well, more like the last week of the summer. Why?”

“I just need to start planning is all,” he says with a wink, before slipping on his shoes and walking out her door.

This is a refreshing way to end her evening. Because he’s promising to stay in her life; he’s swearing to be there.

Claire isn’t going to let some unfair promise make her lose Trent. Boys wanted… that kind of stuff _way_ more than girls ever did, right? Didn’t every movie _ever_ teach her that? She should have expected that he’d get so hot and heavy, so lost in the moment. But he realized his mistake and apologized to help ease her nerves. Besides, would any boy ever be willing to wait so long for _just_ that? For something that she still doesn’t even understand all of the hype around?

She can’t lose her boyfriend over that... over something so out of her control. Even though, at the end of the day, it should be _only_ in her control. Claire hopes that she’s made this clear to him.

Having a boyfriend is such a foreign feeling, such a nice feeling. It’s just overall wonderful to be wanted like this. No one’s ever _wanted_ her before.

The clock above her kitchen reads 1:00 AM, but Claire can’t sleep now. She’s all wired, all loopy. There is another sloppy knock at her door, and Maggie begins barking again. She wonders what Trent must have forgotten.

* * *

Kai doesn’t remember the last time that sex felt _this_ good. It feels as if it is living up to all of the hype that he’s ever boasted about it. _Like the first time, like every song lyric ever, yada yada yada._

He holds Popuri in his arms, kissing her like crazy, the two of them tipsy beyond belief. She misses his mouth a couple of times, but he doesn’t care. He buries his face in her chest as he rhythmically moves inside of her.

“Ohhh, _God_ , Kai,” she moans, a little too loudly, clasping her hand over her mouth in attempt to keep her volume down. He snatches it to hold her fist above her head as he pounds into her.

“You’re so dirty,” says Kai. Popuri’s pale thighs have split against his deep skin, as he rams into her further and further. She’s so tight against his erection, so sexy, so _perfect._

See? He was right; drunk sex _is_ the best sex.

“I love you,” they mumble to each other in drunken unison. Popuri melts into him, like putty in his damn hands. She arches her back against his bedspread, whimpering under him.

“I really fucking do,” Kai adds. He stops rocking against her for a moment to lower his fingers down between her legs, rubbing at her most sensitive area, before quickly resuming. Popuri dips her head back further, screaming, not caring who hears. She's practically shuddering against him.

Someone is playing 80’s music outside of their door, old rock songs radiating throughout the whole inn. It feels like it's gotten louder now, or maybe his hangover is already beginning.

“Come with me, Kai,” she slurs to him as he toys with her swollen nub. She moans. “ _Please_ come.”

He groans, dropping her to the bed so that his hands can grip her shoulders, pumping into her faster. His thrusts are no longer rhythmic, but disorderly as he comes with her.

And this is the best feeling; it really, _really_ is. To climax at the same time as her, to feel her further tighten against his cock, to release his seed insi-

Wait.

_WHAT?!_

_NONONONONONONO._

It feels like the first time, it feels like every song lyric ever, it feels incredible because he is missing the goddamn fucking rubber.

He’s too wasted to distinguish whether Popuri is a mind reader, or just capable of detecting the obvious. He pulls out of her quickly, confirming that he did, in fact, forget to use a condom.

She swallows hard, staring at his member. Her eyes don’t look glassy anymore. They look aware. Fully. Aware. “Did you… just-?”

Kai peels himself off of her, still supporting himself, watching as his release slowly trickles out of her. Popuri is breathing heavily, before pushing him away from her, shrieking.

How could he be so stupid? How could he come inside of her without using any form of protection? _She_ isn’t even on any kind of birth control!

He tries to console her crying, tries to stroke her skin, tries to press his lips against her pink hair so that she can feel his presence next to her, so that she knows that he's here. Kai feels like the biggest piece of shit on the planet when she reacts as though his kiss is on fire.

“You… didn't have... I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU!”

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he cries. “I-I’m so fucking sorry. I forgot, I-"

Kai knows instantly who to run to. Hasn't his friend been in these shoes plenty of times before?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the previous chapter, Kai asks Gray for a condom, but I changed it to him not remembering what he was ever gonna ask him. Felt like it made more sense with what is to come (don't be nasty, I didn't mean it like that LOL)
> 
> NOT SINCE ONE TREE HILL IN 2006 HAVE I SEEN THE IMPORTANCE OF SAFE SEX DESCRIBED IN A TEEN DRAMA SERIES. *Arthur fist meme*
> 
> Alrighty I'm done now peaceeeee


	23. The Plan B

“Oh,” Claire says, as soon as she answers the door. “Hi.” The face on the other end looks surprised to see her so jolted and awake.

“This is yours,” Gray mumbles, without looking at her. His vacant eyes stay glued to the floor as he hands over her shawl that she left at the inn. He must be able to feel her staring at him, though, because he brings his hat over his face with shaky hands.

Claire nods, throwing the wooly fabric over her bare shoulders. “Thank you.”

He teeters on the spot, holding on to the edge of her doorframe. His knuckles have been squeezed to a bone white as the visible portion of his face flushes crimson. “Don’t… sweat it.”

“Are you okay?”

"Ah-huh."

Claire doesn’t know if she really believes this, and worriedly gestures for him to come inside. The one shot that they did together made her _slightly_ buzzed, but she feels totally fine now. _How much alcohol does it take someone like him to get this tipsy?_ Although, at least he looks better than he did a couple of hours ago - _way_ more alert. And if he’s alert, then he can answer this: “Can I ask you something?”

Gray closes the door behind him, rubbing at his bleary eyes with balled up fists. She hasn’t bothered to turn on a light, and he hasn’t bothered to come up with a smart-aleck reply. “What?”

 _Drunk people always tell the truth, right?_ “Do you think that I was like, temperamental today?”

Maggie scampers over to Gray’s feet, whimpering and rolling over on her back. He simply sits on the cold floor, petting her tummy lazily. “No, you just kept crying… over _nothing._ But you weren’t…” It’s like he’s forgotten that he’s in the middle of a sentence. He lays on his back to lift Maggie over his chest.

“Erratic?” she finishes.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

Claire bites the inside of her cheek. “Well, you’re brutally honest and rude, so-"

“Thanks.”

“Ugh, do you think I look super bloated in this dress? Like, is it noticeable?”

Gray raises his head to stare at her figure in the moonlight. He smells like a million different alcohols, from the fruity Pornstars that she tried with him, to the bitter fermentation of whiskey that he requested. “Where’s this coming from?”

Claire sits down on the floor across from him, motioning for Maggie to come closer. But, as usual, her dog would much rather cling to Gray like a… well, like a lost puppy. “Look, I've _never_ liked my stomach. Just tell me.”

"No." With great force, he hoists himself up on his elbows, lifting his hat so that he can finally meet her eyes. “You didn’t. You looked like you always do.” He pauses, as if contemplating his next words. “You know… b-"

Claire's attention immediately shifts to the persistent knocking at her door. Her heart skips as she rises to her feet quickly, unable to mask her worried expression.

“Hope that i’nt your boyfriend,” says Gray.

Claire glares at him, even though for both of their sakes, she hopes not either. Trent's way too jealous to understand that this is just how they hangout. On the floor of her house, in the dark, while he's drunk and she's just trying to make sense of everything... yeah, this one would be sort of hard to explain. She swings the door open as Kai rapidly barges in, Popuri silently trudging along behind him.

They both look far worse than she's ever seen them. Frazzled, restless, and maybe even a little bit… ashamed? Compared to them, Gray’s sobered up big time; these two are intoxicated goners.

“Doug told me you’d be here,” Kai says to Gray, jamming his hands into his pockets. He’s changed into a pair of purple pajamas, while Popuri wears what looks to be Kai’s sweat-top and track pants. They look so oversized on her, as if she’s drowning in them.

He slowly takes Maggie off of his lap, standing sloppily. Claire can't help but wonder why Doug even knew at all.

“What’s wrong?” Gray asks.

Popuri starts to silently cry, her back slumped against the closed door, hand hovering over her mouth in order to muffle the whimpering sound. Claire anxiously takes her friend’s hand, guiding her to the couch. “Popuri, what is it?”

She sluggishly fixes her gaze on an embarrassed Kai, who still stands next to Gray by the doorway. “Why don’t _you_ *hic* tell them, Kai?”

“PLEASE tell me... tell me you got _Plan B_ on you,” he pleads with Gray.

_Plan B...?_

Popuri’s sobbing gets louder when she sees Gray shake his head _no_ (it gets even worse when Gray rudely asks why he would even be the one to own any). Claire, confused as ever, places her hand on Popuri’s shoulder in attempt to comfort her. Kai rushes over to try and do the same.

“What the hell did you do?” he mutters to Kai.

“What do you think?!” Popuri screams, jerking herself away from Kai. As she shoots up from the couch unstably, Gray tries to support her with his own unsteady arms. She just buries her face in his suit jacket, sobbing.

“I’m sorry, you guys,” says Gray softly, his hand gently on Popuri’s back. He glares at Kai. “I don’t got.”

Kai lets out an exasperated breath, turning to Claire with desperate eyes. “Claire, I know... _I know_ that this is a long shot, but do you have any _Plan B?”_

She frowns. “I... I don’t know what that is, but I don’t think so-”

“Why would she *hic* have it?” Popuri asks harshly, whirling around to face Kai. “ _She’d_ never need it, because her boyfriend wouldn’t just _come inside of her!”_

_Yikes._

“You guys had unprotected sex?” Claire widens her eyes, as if this is a crazy, unheard of notion. But for two almost nineteen-year-olds that should know better... it feels like it kind of is. She turns to Kai. “And you… ejaculated-”

_Jeez, I sound like such a prude._

“Jesus, Blondie,” mutters Gray, affirming her thoughts. She grimaces at her choice of wording.

Popuri chokes out another strangled sob. “I *hic* can’t believe you, Kai!”

Kai buries his head in his hands, rubbing his face painfully. “You said to _come_ with you, so I fucking did. Christ, Popuri, don’t you know how awful I feel?”

“I wouldn’t have *hic* said that if I realized that you _didn’t have a condom_.”

“Popuri, we _both_ didn’t realize. We were fucking _wasted._ We’re _still_ wasted! I knew that I was forgetting… _something-_ ”

“But you *hic* _never_ carry your own. You always… freakin' rely on Gray, because you’re just so *hic* immature-”

 _“You’re_ calling _me_ immature? Do you know what kinda hypocrite you sound like?”

“Kai, just shut up! You know *hic* what? Maybe my brother... _was_ right about you all along.”

“Oh _great,_ here we fuckin’ go.”

Claire rises from the couch to stand next to Gray, watching as the couple continues their screaming match. The two are going back and forth, like a Ping-Pong tournament, in a slippery slope that is leading to nowhere. It’s a little scary to see someone as playful and sweet as Popuri scream at the top of her lungs, but it's even scarier to watch her shoot daggers through her eyeballs at Kai when she’s always gazed at him so lovingly.

“So, does _Plan B_ just like... stop a pregnancy before it happens?” Claire whispers to Gray.

He gives her the side-eye. “Did you not learn about contraception in high school?”

“We barely learned about _conception_.” _Hello? Catholic school._ The only way that she got taught to prevent a pregnancy was through abstinence.

"There's only... like a three day window to take it, but the sooner you do, the more effective it is," says Gray.

Kai lightly steadies Popuri's arms, but she only reacts by sobbing into his shoulder as he holds her. She looks scared. _No,_ _terrified._

If Rick ever finds out, he’s going to kill Kai, and _then_ her.

“I’ll go to Trent, then,” Claire says. “He’s bound to have… that.”

“You don’t even know what ‘that’ is,” he says tiredly.

“I’m guessing it’s a medication? Like a pill?”

Gray sighs, like he’d rather be having any other conversation right now. “Just stay here with them. It’s dark; I’ll go.”

“I’ll come with you.”

He scowls at her. “You really think that’s a good idea?”

She stops, then shrinks back. “Um, I guess not.”

* * *

Gray makes sure that his knock on the clinic doors is extra rude and abrupt. If Trent’s asleep, then he hopes that the sound scares him awake. The world isn’t dizzy anymore, but he still feels wobbly.

... And there’s no answer.

He drums his knuckles against the door again. Mineral Town is eerily quiet at 1:30 in the morning, so he can easily hear the sounds of rustling and shimmying coming from inside the clinic. _What the hell is going on?_

He bangs his fist against the door one last time, knowing damn well that the doctor is in there _._ Trent finally answers, disheveled, out of breath, and wearing only a pair of shorts. Amidst his drunken thoughts, it makes Gray pretty happy to see how much muscle the guy’s lacking in comparison to him, even if this does sound chauvinistic.

“What do you want?” Trent snaps, but it comes out more like “whaddyawant,” followed by heavy breathing to follow.

Gray makes a face at him. He _reeks_ of alcohol, even worse than himself. He doesn't even remember Trent drinking that much at the inn. “Do you have any _Plan B?”_ he asks begrudgingly, almost forgetting that this isn't just any kind of request; it's one that makes him feel stupid and embarrassed.

Trent smirks as he catches his breath. _What the fuck kind of porn was this guy jerking it to?_ “You... you mean, Lev... Levonorgestrel?”

Has Gray ever mentioned that he hates this piece of shit? Because he really, _really_ does.

“Fuck off,” he snaps.

“What? You don’t like condoms either... huh?”

Is Trent just trying to make him upset? “It’s not for me.”

“Well, of course not. It would be for a female-”

"I mean, I'm getting it for a friend."

"Classic excuse."

“I dunno why you wanna _think_ that it’s for me.”

Something shifts inside of Trent's eyes, like a flicker of anger. He slams the door behind him. “What the fuck did you do to my girlfriend?!” he spits at him.

Gray likes to think that there’s different classifications of people who get drunk. For example, he, his father, and Kai are fun drunks. The liquor makes them the life of the party, something that Gray is not always used to being. Then, there’s the gloomy drunks, people like Rick, or even his own mom, who avoid alcohol like the plague because it only evokes sadness. And finally, there’s the angry drunks.

Exhibit A right in front of him.

Gray staggers, but regains his posture. He stares at him incredulously. “Are you dense? Nothing! Fuck's sake, it isn’t for her _or_ me!” He shakes his head. “You think so goddamn little of her.”

Trent fumes, like he’s internally questioning how he could have ever thought that Claire would do such a thing. “I only _care_ about her.”

“Put some of that ‘care’ into yourself, ‘cause you got issues.”

“I don’t have what you’re looking for.” Trent frowns, rubbing his bare arm contritely in an attempt to calm down. “Wish I did.”

“Thought this was a clinic.”

“It ain’t a pharmacy, though. Shipment comes… Tuesday morning? Of course, emergency contraceptive's only effective for the first seventy-two hours... so it really looks like you’re SOL.”

_First of all, this guy is slurring the hell outta his words, so he one hundred percent drank more when he got home._

_Second, who actually says the acronym letters for shit outta luck?_

_Third, I really hate this douche._

Gray takes a step forward, but Trent keeps his hand on the doorknob, as if he’s preparing a flight response at any minute. “What’re you hiding?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” says Trent, way too defensively. “I have nothing to hide, and I sure... sure as hell don’t have to answer to a smart-mouthed... little punk.”

“You have a pack, don’t you?” Gray’s bullshit detector is going off. “You got it and you aren’t giving it to me.”

Trent blinks, his tone faltering. “No.”

“I know you’re lyin’.”

“I-I wish I could help,” Trent says, actually sounding very guilty. But Gray was made aware that psychopaths like this don't have feelings. “All I wanna do is help people, but-”

Gray just scoffs.

“I don’t have an extra one.” And with that, Trent clasps the doorknob, staggering inside. He slams the door behind him, leaving Gray to return back confused, irate, and empty-handed.

* * *

When he opens the door to Claire’s house, he sees Popuri sprawled out on the couch, the tears that have streamed down her cheeks all dried up in the glare of the moonlight. Claire sits next to Popuri, absentmindedly biting her nails while still wearing that damn yellow dress. How could she have even asked him earlier if she looked bad in it? She's always so beautiful, and he was drunk enough to almost reveal this to her.

“What’d he say?” Claire asks, rising from her seat to rush over to him.

“Your boyfriend doesn’t have one to spare.” Gray looks around the room. “Apparently.”

She narrows her eyes. “Gray, don’t be like that. This isn’t Trent’s fault.”

He ignores this, because arguing with her is just asking for a goddamn headache on top of the one that he already has. “Where’s Kai?”

Claire crosses her arms over her chest, kicking her foot out. “Throwing up.”

He emerges from the bathroom, swaying. He looks over at them hopefully, but Gray just shakes his head, leading Kai to let out a string of curse words.

“You need to take Pope home,” Gray says to him. “I’m goin’ to Forget-Me-Not Valley. It's only forty-five minutes away. Zack should be back from bringin' Rick and Karen to the Sunshine Islands.”

He stares. “I’m coming.”

“You already did.”

Kai scowls, apparently not finding this very funny. “Don’t be an asshole,” he slurs. “This exact same… _bullshit_ happened to you lotsa times.”

Gray scowls back at him. “It happened once.”

“Ah-huh.”

"Let's not forget that _you_ pulled out on a textbook because _you_ didn't have a rubber," he snaps. "Start bein’ responsible for yourself. I’m not the fuckin' condom fairy.”

“It isn’t like you been using your stash. You don’t get any, lately _,_ ” Kai retorts.

_Like this is a competition._

Claire grabs Gray’s arm in an attempt to prevent him from hurtling out any other insults. “Kai, you can't even walk in a straight line,” she murmurs. “I don’t think that it’s safe for you to go.”

“Claire’s right. Bring Popuri home, stay with her, I don’t care. You’re just very fucking lucky that Rick’s on his honeymoon.”

“This is my problem. I’m goin' with you,” says Kai, stumbling over his own two feet. He slumps over on the floor, groaning.

“You can barely stand,” says Gray, not bothering to hide his annoyance. He kneels down to help him up, teetering, but regaining his composure like he’s done all night. “Get home and get lost.”

He sighs deeply, leaning against Claire's wall for support. “You’re... right. I’m about to be more KO’d than... than Pope.”

Seeing as though he can’t even hold his liquor, much less, hold a person, Gray is the one to carry Popuri home, while Claire helps Kai to walk somewhat properly without falling. They go through the back window, the way that Karen snuck in the fateful night of the coat check closet, when she was dared to panty-raid Rick’s house. Claire unclasps the lock for Kai to step inside, as Gray gently hands Popuri over to him. The window stays slightly ajar for when they return.

“Let me walk you home,” says Gray, turning to her.

Claire furrows her thin brows. “Ummm, I’m coming with you.”

“Like hell you are.”

“Gray!” she exclaims. “You can fake it, but you’re not exactly sober, either. Someone needs to make sure that you’ll be alright.”

He rubs his temples. “You need to go home. This i'nt up for debate.” He removes his suit jacket, slinging it around his shoulder as he shakes his head at her.

“I’m _way_ more persistent than Kai, and I’m not letting you go alone!”

Persistent is really just another word for a pain in his ass.

“Jesus Christ, Blondie. Forget-Me-Not Valley isn’t safe at night. They don’t have anyone like Harris there. It’s fine during the day, but it’s _fucked_ when it gets dark.”

Claire blinks, as if she hasn’t heard him. She starts walking to the direction of the docks, shawl wrapped tightly around her body. “Gray, we need to help our friends, and you can’t do it alone. Plus, what if something happens to you?” She whirls around dramatically to look at him, locks of her hair colliding with his face. She smells so sweet, like vanilla and buttercream and maybe even... maple syrup? “I’d cry.”

“You’d do that anyway.”

“I’m coming with you.”

And he realizes that this really isn’t up for debate.

* * *

“Good,” says Gray as they get closer to the beach pier. “Zack’s boat is still out on the water.”

“You think he’ll have no problem taking us?” Claire asks, the sound of waves crashing against the shore drumming in her ear. She’s never been to the beach at night, but it somehow feels more calm; more serene. The damp saltiness of the ocean hits her nostrils powerfully.

Gray nods, knocking on the door to Won's place, much to Claire's confusion. _Why are we getting Won involved in this?_ The seller answers in a silk bathrobe, looking like an entirely different person without his tinted shades or hat on.

“Uh oh,” he says. “This is not a good sign.”

“Is Zack up?” Gray asks impatiently. “We need him to take us to Forget-Me-Not Valley.”

Claire feels confused. _Does Zack live here?_ She's never really given much thought as to where her shipment deliverer resides.

“Do you know what time it is, pal?” Zack asks, emerging from the shadows, behind Won. He wears his usual attire, a grey tank with some blue shorts. He doesn't look ready for bed at all.

“Look, we really need to pick something up there from Hardy.”

Zack squints at him, like he knows exactly what he’s talking about. Gray’s face flushes. “I’m real tired, man. I just got back from Karen talking my goddamn ear off.”

“Zack, please!” Claire cries, grabbing his abnormally large bicep. He stares down at her small hand over his muscle. “We _truly_ need your help.” She lowers her voice. “It’s for… Lillia’s daughter.”

The three tall men gawk at her stupidly.

“So what?” Zack asks.

Claire deadpans. “I just thought that… you and Lillia… well, I, um... you know…” Is she missing something? _Doesn’t Zack have a huge crush on Lillia, but their love is totally forbidden because Lillia’s long-lost husband and Zack are buddies?_

_Or, did I make all of that up?_

Won arches his brow at her.

“Just… just disregard that,” says Gray, facepalming. “Can you take us?”

“Please,” Claire adds, nudging him with her elbow.

“Yeah, yeah. _Please?”_

“You’re a real pain in the ass, eh, Gray?” Zack says with a sigh. “No wonder your grandfather doesn’t let you go to the horse races.”

Won disappears in the shadows of the house to retrieve the boat keys, tossing them over to Zack. As Claire and Gray walk over to the docks, they hear a sound, turning their heads to see Won kissing the seller goodbye, much to her own surprise.

“I-I had no idea,” Claire mumbles, unable to contain the shock from her voice.

Gray smirks. “That I’m not allowed to go to the horse races? Well, believe it, Blondie.”

_Yeah, that’s what I was referring to, Gray._

* * *

“Why do ya look so surprised, Claire?” asks Zack, quickly peering at her before directing his attention back to the water. He has to yell his question over the noisy sound of his boat driving through the waves. He looks off into the distance, directing his boat toward the direction of wherever this Forget-Me-Not Valley is. He quickly turns to her again, staring at the little Catholic cross pin on her dress. “Is there a problem?”

Claire looks down at where his eyes are fixated on, vigorously shaking her head. “Oh my gosh, no! Of course not! I just… I had no idea, that’s all. I thought you were… you know, into Lillia.”

Zack pauses. “I suppose that's just a cover,” he replies absently, turning around once again to direct the boat. “None of the town gossips, _or_ the elderly folks know, so I’d appreciate you keeping my relationship on the DL.”

“Why aren’t you asking me to keep it ‘on the DL?’” asks Gray, already knowing the answer.

“All you kids already know,” says Zack. “Plus, you’re antisocial as hell, and no one talks to you.”

_Yup, there it is._

“He’s got a point,” says Claire. He rolls his eyes at her.

"It's time for the quiet game," he says. His head is splitting; the loud sounds of everything and everyone around him feeling heightened.

“How long have you two been dating?” Claire decides to ask, ignoring his request of silence. The breeze picks up along the hemline of her dress, but she fastens it down with her hands quickly.

“Aren’t you tired?” mutters Gray.

“Ten years,” Zack tells her, staring off into the boat’s water. “Well, it’s ten years tomorrow.”

“That’s so sweet.” She smiles. "Happy almost anniversary!"

Gray had no idea that Zack and Won have been together for an entire decade. “That’s a long time,” he says apprehensively.

Zack shrugs. “Doesn’t feel long. Feels like you’ve known that person your whole life.”

“Rick and Karen literally have!” exclaims Claire, a dreamy look in her eyes. Gray wasn’t too big on their ceremonial shit, but he liked the fact those two booked an open bar for their wedding. Because open bars make everything much more tolerable.

“They’re a good match,” says Zack. “I mean, I’ve known those two since they were kids, and I think that they really balance each other out.”

“Do you and Won?”

“I’d say so.” Zack drives the boat toward the ratty old dock of Forget-Me-Not-Valley. This pier isn't located where the beach is, but rather, on the side of the mountains near some crazy lady named Vesta's vegetable farm. His cousin Flora used to tell him all about that. “That’s the most important thing, isn’t it?”

Claire nods enthusiastically in agreement, with Gray wondering what kind of a balance there is in her relationship with Trent.

_Power imbalance, sure._

But even just looking at her with alcohol-hazed eyes, Gray would like to believe that Claire is the one who balances _him_ out.

Every. Damn. Time.

* * *

The trip proves to be successful, and not a total waste of time and energy. Hardy is wide-awake, just like Gray predicted he’d be. He’s like some sort of cyborg that doesn’t require sleep, in the literal and figurative sense of the word. No, really; he's got this robotic eye that looks like it's been sewn in. After he introduces Claire and explains the ordeal, Hardy hands over a package of _Plan B_ to her.

“Be careful next time, Grayson,” Hardy warns, adjusting his metallic eye like he’s focusing the lens of a camera. “What do the youngsters say? Wrap it before you…”

Gray groans. “It isn’t mine and you know it.”

Hardy chuckles, though it sounds both mechanical and forced. “Aha, ha. Tell those two that this is no laughing matter, although I do hope that it all works out for the best. Be sure that Popuri takes it immediately in order to increase its effectiveness.”

Claire kicks at a rock on the road after they’ve left. “Do you think that it’s both of their fault, Gray?”

“Honestly… I dunno," he says with a sigh. "Kai’s a fuckin' moron because Pope’s right, he _never_ comes prepared. But they were both fried, caught up in the moment, and when that happens, you forget shit.” Gray shrugs. “They just both didn't realize that they were missing... well, _something_.”

“Kai said that this happened to you.”

“Kai’s an idiot.”

“So it didn’t?”

"It did,” he mumbles, his cheeks feeling hot. “I told you, I almost got my girl pregnant around the time my mom started having her headaches.”

“Did the condom, um... did it break?”

“I wasn't even wearing one. We were both stupid and wanted to try without one, 'cause it feels better. Low and behold: I’m a huge dumbfuck and thought I could, uh, pull... pull out in time."

“Jeez.”

“I felt like such a piece of shit, and she was royally pissed at me, even though we both made that dumb decision together. I went out and bought the morning after pill for her right away, and it made her feel really sick." He grimaces. "She didn't get pregnant, but we broke up regardless."

"How much ice cream did it take to get over her?" Claire asks.

He rolls his eyes. "I wasn't in love or anything, so it wasn't hard."

"Ah-huh."

"Just needed three pints of _Ben and Jerry's_ 'From Russia with Buzz' to help me out."

She laughs, playfully pushing him as they walk. “Yikes!"

He gestures toward the _Plan B_ in her hands. “Was this night too much for someone as religious as you?”

Claire scoffs. “Just ‘cause I go to church, doesn’t mean I’m homophobic, or anti… birth control, or anything like that.”

“What about your boyfriend? Is he gonna be mad about our little endeavor tonight?”

Claire looks up at him, stopping in her tracks. Her face is painted with visible worry. “No,” she lies.

"Bull." Gray takes a step closer to her, even though this is dangerous territory on a night like this. She just looks so pretty, cast under the soft light of the moon. Claire's hair tumbles like a waterfall around her, curls blowing in the gentle wind as her full lips stay dauntingly parted.

“My goodness,” says a voice, standing near some planted stalks of corn by Vesta's farm. “What a beautiful darling. An absolute maiden.”

The two stop dead in their tracks to stare. The voice belongs to a guy, a pretty boy with long, silvery hair, a leopard-print shirt, and purple slacks. He’s older than them, but not by much. When he moves closer toward Claire, she remains frozen in fear.

“Um,” she stammers worriedly.

Gray scowls. “Leave her alone.”

“Well, you are a maiden.” He takes another step closer, to which Claire moves back hurriedly. “Aren’t you?”

“I-”

“Don’t answer this cockshit.”

The guy frowns at the box clutched in Claire's hands. “Oh, dear. I suppose you aren’t a maiden, then.” He raises his aqua-coloured eyes to her. “But I suppose that I don’t mind. I can make an exception, you know, just this once-"

Gray throws his arm over a nervous Claire, blocking and leading her away. “You touch her and that’ll be the last thing you fuckin' do,” he warns. _What the actual hell is wrong with people?_

“I'm sorry, are you threatening Skye, a Prince of the Stars?” The guy smirks, following them.

“I'm threatenin' a dumb cunt,” Gray snaps, clenching his fist next to him. His mom used to _hate_ when he used that word, but she isn't here right now, and plus, it seems fitting, given how much this guy's got Claire reeling. He flips him off and guides her away. Skye or Star-Prince or whatever the fuck his name is _tsks_ as he turns to leave.

“What a freak,” says Claire, her voice warbling. She’s pretending to play it cool, even though she looks beyond afraid and panicky right now. Neither of them look back. Gray loosens his arm around her, dropping it to his side quickly, like he wasn’t just holding her close.

“This is why I didn’t want you to come here. I told you, there’s fuckin' freaks at night.” He glances to the other side of him, over the direction where his cousin lives, in that stupid little tent with her strange boss. “Like, some of the people here are fine. But it’s motherfuckers like that who-”

He hears a stifled noise behind him, near the mountain path. Gray turns around, not realizing that he’s walked way ahead.

And Claire is nowhere to be seen.

 _Jesus Christ._ “Claire?!”

* * *

The guy has his hand clamped over Claire’s mouth, pinning her against a rough indent of the mountain. She screams, the sound muffled by his palm. He isn’t even that much taller than her, but his grip is firm. “I’ve stolen you away, it seems.”

Claire is screaming, but it only comes out like a low, strangled noise given the constraint. The guy smells like cigarettes and curry powder. He's gazing at the pin on her shirt with those frightful green eyes, like some kind of an evil cat. “You know, I am a self-proclaimed thief,” he says. She squirms to try and break free, but he’s got such a tight grasp on her. “And also a lady-killer.”

_IS THAT LITERAL?!_

She feels like a helpless butterfly caught under the dissection board of a mad scientist. Her heart fearfully thumps hard, so much so that she wonders if it’s going to crawl its way up her throat, or pound right out of her chest. As quick as a magician, the guy releases his hand over her mouth, grabbing both of her arms and bringing them over her head. The _Plan B_ that she’s holding drops to the ground with a tiny thud. He secures her like this with one of her hands, as the other unclasps the pin over Claire’s chest. She cries out, her voice finally freed, as he takes the time to squeeze both of her breasts individually, much to her repulsion.

“Let go of me! STOP!” she shrieks. "GET OFF!"

The guy ( _what was his name again? Skye?)_ smiles at her insincerely. Unable to fight back, she spits in his face, to which he recoils disgustingly. She angrily juts her head away as a fist that doesn’t belong to her quickly collides with his jaw.

Skye’s head thrashes around from the punch, hard like whiplash. Claire has collapsed against the mountain, on her knees and panting. He scowls at Gray, whose knuckles are twitching from the blow he just delivered. Skye lunges at him with a shout, clobbering his jaw. He flinches slightly, but quickly grabs the thief’s fist, twisting it around to shove him to the ground.

“I told you,” he says, his teeth clenched and stuck together, as if they’ve been glued down. “NOT TO FUCKING TOUCH HER.”

Skye rises, reaching for his mouth, gasping when his hand comes back with blood. Claire watches in terror. “She was practically _begging_ for me,” he retorts, swinging to hit Gray back.

But Gray dodges it, tackling his fist into the thief’s pretty face. Skye’s got all the features of a model: the high cheekbones, the silky hair, the almond eyes, but such a slime-ball personality. “Try saying that again,” Gray snaps.

Skye looks dazed, like even the moonlight is too bright for the concussion that he’s developing. He tries to tackle him, but it’s done in vain; Gray is much taller, and far bigger.

“It isn’t _my_ fault that your girlfriend wanted-”

Gray doesn’t let him finish. He pummels his fist into Skye, knocking him to the ground. Towering over him, he delivers another punch, and Claire watches a tooth sail across the dirt. She hasn’t ever witnessed a real fight, not like this. These two stupid football jocks in high school brawled over who was the better linebacker, but one of them just kicked the other in the stomach and got his hair pulled back for it. Her school held this huge assembly a day later on why violence is not recognized in the Catholic religion, even though the Bible's chock full of it.

This feels worse, though. Way worse. It feels like something that she’s not supposed to see; like taboo. Skye groans as Gray lifts him up by his collar, to his feet. His eyes are no longer foggy, or glassy, or vacant. They're ice cold, yet blazing with rage at the same time.

“Don’t you EVER lay your filthy fucking hands on her again, you sick shit.”

Skye groans, blood pooling along his mouth. His right eye is swollen shut. Gray pulls his arm back like he's about to hit him again, but stops when he catches Claire's horrified expression. He lowers his fist uncomfortably, throwing the thief back and letting him go. Skye teeters, before running away while howling bloody murder. She can see the tooth, an incisor or a canine or something, in a spitted, bloody mess on the floor.

Gray just swallows, staring at his fist. In the moonlight, it doesn’t look like his calloused hands are cracked and caked with blood at all. It looks as though they could be covered in anything, for those who don’t know what just happened. Like he's merely spilt ink on them.

But the two of them know what just happened. She saw it all.

“Are you okay?” he manages out, in a voice that doesn’t sound like him at all. It sounds older, angrier, more tired than she’s ever heard him. Claire can’t see his face, and he doesn’t dare turn to her.

She bites back a whimper, nodding slowly as she picks up her cross pin and the _Plan B_ laying on the ground beneath her. Gray extends his bloody hand to help her up, but she still can’t make out his face; it’s hidden and dark beneath his hat. He bends down by a small pond near them, noiselessly rinsing the thick redness off of his hands.

* * *

Their walk back to the boat is silent. Claire wraps her shawl tightly around her, as if she’s a mummy, listening to the distant sound of waves colliding against the shore. This isn’t Mineral Town. Nothing is nicely paved, there’s no flowers planted or blooming around their paths, and even the moon feels different now; as if it's been dimmed.

“Thank you,” she whispers. Claire tries keeping up with him, but he’s pacing so fast. She wonders if he even realizes it. Her heart is racing, crashing against her ribcage in humongous leaps.

“This is what I didn’t fucking want,” Gray finally says.

She blinks the moisture back from her eyes, hating the fury in his voice. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He finally looks her in the eyes guiltily. They’re almost by the dock, where Zack is patiently waiting. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“I just thought-"

He curses under his breath as he wipes a smear of blood along his jawline. Skye must have caught Gray's skin with the multitude of rings on his finger when he punched him. “Claire, you are not fucking invincible.”

“Neither are you!” she exclaims, pain edged in her voice. She's come to know that whenever he says her real name, it's not a good sign. “I’m so, _so_ sorry, I didn’t mean to get caught by him, I just-”

“Why are _you_ apologizing?” Gray stares at her incredulously. To her surprise, he pulls her close and hugs her, his arms wound tightly around her, like he’s trying to get a grip on reality. She looks up at him with tear-filled eyes, burying her face in the fabric of his chest. “Don’t you dare blame yourself… I’m just so fuckin' sorry I let that happen.”

_This isn’t even his fault._

“I’ve never seen you so angry.”

Gray sighs deeply. “I try not to let it get that bad.”

“Are you angry with me?”

“Fuck's sake, Claire. _No._ Of course not. Why would I _ever-_ ”

“I was so afraid, Gray,” she sobs out, the noise muffled by the cotton material of his dress shirt. He has his hand on her back, dissimilar to the way that Trent traced her scars a mere few hours ago. This isn’t suggestive; Gray just does this as an attempt to get her body to stop tremoring so much. He pulls her shoulders back to face him, expression twisted in drunken distress.

“Claire, no one should be touching you against your goddamn will.” And, as if he thinks that this attempt to hold her fits into this category, he shamefully brings his hands to his side. “ _No one_ should be touching you like that. I don’t give a shit who it is. You’re fucking seventeen-years-old.”

She nods like she gets it, though she doesn’t dare allow herself to compare Trent in this way. He’s her boyfriend… he never touches her in an attempt to hurt her, not like Skye did tonight. _This is totally different._

But, why do Gray's words resonate with her so much?

 _Because he's right._ Claire really doesn't want anyone to feel her up like that, doesn't matter who it is in question. As much as she hates to admit it, she isn't an adult yet. There's so much that she's still naïve and oblivious to, but she knows for certain that she definitely doesn't want _that_.

Claire's still shaking by the time that they get back on Zack's boat. She tries to clamp her mouth shut to keep her teeth from chattering. She’s wavering, as if someone is violently taking her and shaking her body like a tremor, like a damn earthquake. Zack stares at the two of them as they clamor into his boat, wordlessly shrugging as he turns the key in its ignition, beginning their ride back home.

Gray collapses, slumping himself against the seat rest near the back with a moan. Claire just gently places his head on her lap mutely, watching as his eyes shut. She blinks back tears as the three ride home quietly, clutching the box in one hand, the pin clasped tightly in the other, pricking her palm and drawing blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright listen, before you Skye fans come at me, hear me out. I used to adore him, given the lack of attractive bachelors in Harvest Moon DS Cute. BUT NOW I LOOK BACK AND HE'S LITERALLY A CRIMINAL WHO LACKS ANY KIND OF REMORSE LOL. ALSO HE PARALYZES YOU IN LIKE, TWO OF THE HEART EVENTS WHEN HE WANTS TO SUBDUE YOU????? AND HE'S GOING AROUND ASKING ABOUT FAIR MAIDENS???? (yeah Ik maiden has two meanings but I guess you know which one I used here LOL). Low key, not a cute look for him ngl. But c'mon, I never knew I needed a Gray/Skye fight in my life until I wrote it ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ (don't b mad ok)
> 
> ALSO ALSO I remember reading a Won x Zack pairing on FF.net YEARS ago and I totally loved it and thought the pairing really worked. So I've been shipping it ever since and shipped it here too lol
> 
> Imagine Gray as the condom fairy... that would be a LOOK hunny (I dig it). Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, it was a long one I know but idk lol hope it was ok (as you can tell I'm not great at writing fighting scenes either). Cheers, take care of yourselves ❤
> 
> PS: Sorry, sometimes I go overboard in these and tend to treat them like a DeviantART journal, where I express everything that's been bugging my mind lately. If you guys ever wanna talk about anything though, feel free to chat with me :)


	24. The Trainer

He dreams that his grandfather exonerates him from Mineral Blacksmith for going to Forget-Me-Not Valley without his permission. Apparently, Gray is still some sort of child that requires permission to do shit after-hours. He’s forced to stay at Popuri’s in the dream, where Claire is… also staying? (For reasons unbeknowest to him.) Part of the dream involves sharing a bed with her, but things don’t get racy at all. He's comforting her as she cries quietly into his shoulder, lips pressed against the top of her blonde head. Claire looks up at him, her sapphire eyes shimmering, as if she finally, fully comprehends that he’s been the one for her this whole time. Her gaze is fixed on his as she cranes her neck to kiss him, the action so soft, that it doesn’t feel real.

Because it isn’t real.

 _But whatever._ This one didn’t feel like something he wasn’t supposed to see. It felt natural, the way that everything is when he’s with her.

Gray just hopes that she’s alright.

He can’t shake the image of her with that indecipherable look on her face after what happened last night. Normally, he’s the one that’s hard to read; Claire’s an open book. But her expression didn’t look sad, or afraid, or even angry like his own; she looked lost. Like she was trapped in a traumatic daze that Gray couldn’t manage to awaken her out of.

After quietly thanking a very tired Zack, they had walked over to Popuri’s, an edgy silence filling the air around them. Gray was still reeling. Even though he was well aware of the kind of bullshit that women faced from men, he still couldn’t wrap his head around what sort of a scumbag it took to violate a girl. Especially a girl as sheltered and inexperienced as Claire; someone that he told himself he was going to keep a close eye on at that hour if she were to accompany him. And he stupidly let her out of his sight for a second, stupidly allowed himself lose his temper so violently in front of her on that pretty-boy fuck. Seeing the frightened look on her face as he kicked the shit out of the guy was enough to make him sick to his alcohol-filled stomach.

With his knuckles swollen and sore, Gray used his elbow to knock on Popuri’s window to wake her up. She emerged in a sleepy daze, and Claire inaudibly handed her the damn pill, a drop of his blood smeared on the box. He wondered how it even got there.

Gray began walking her home. “You look really shaken up,” he had said, a regular Caption Obvious. _No shit._ They unfortunately lived in a world where, instead of guys being vehemently taught not to do that shit, girls had to make sure that they knew how to protect themselves if anything potentially happened. True fuckery, if you asked him. Flora said that mastering her black belt in martial arts made her feel so much safer after the sky got dark in Forget-Me-Not Valley. Gray's dad had even taught his mother and much-younger self how to fight someone off of them if they were put in any kind of danger back in the city. Couldn’t Gray find a way to make sure that Claire wasn’t so pathetically defenseless? Watching her walk alongside him on the path, he really took notice of how scrawny she was. As cynical as it sounded, and to no fault of her own, she wouldn’t have stood a chance if he hadn’t been there.

How could he have let that happen to her? And what if her boyfriend was putting her through the same kind of bullshit?

“I’m fine,” Claire lied. The pin that he gifted her was back on her dress, against her left breast. Or, was it always there that whole time? A chill ran through the air, crawling its way under his skin. His knuckles throbbed, raw from each blow that he delivered to the thief’s face. If she hadn’t been there, watching him in horror, he probably would have beaten the guy further.

“Are you okay?”

“I am.” Claire lowered her hand, staring at a small, skinny warble of blood. It ran down her palm, trickling to the ground in one swift motion.

Gray took her hand, confused as to where her wound was. “You’re bleeding, Blondie.” _Was that her blood on the pill box?_

The crackling noise of a twig snapping erupted in his ears. It was well-past two in the morning, so who the hell else was up? Still clutching Claire’s hand, he saw a shadow from far off in the distance, illuminated by the street lamps. He could just make out the small speck of Elli’s figure, walking quickly between the clinic and her house.

She spotted his gaze across the deep horizon right away, stared at his hand holding Claire’s, and whirled around in an attempt to pretend like she didn’t.

"What is it?" Claire asked, craning her neck to where he was looking.

But Elli was gone.

"Nothing," he muttered. Was there a permanent full moon in the air or something? _What the hell is with everyone?_

 _Whatever._ It’s morning now, and his grandfather’s hijacked the bottle of Tylenol to treat his own hangover. It seems that mindlessly drinking runs in his family. There’s only one pill left for Gray, even though his splitting headache probably requires about six.

Maybe he can get addicted to popping pills and end up in a Betty Ford-esque clinic like his screw-up father.

 _Nah._ Kai owes him a goddamn solid first.

* * *

Claire doesn’t wake up until two o’clock the next afternoon. Her stomach is cramping badly with period pains, like someone is stabbing her uterus using a dull knife. She obviously isn’t hungover or anything, but she sure feels like she is. Groaning in her bed, Claire stuffs her face between her soft white pillows. Maggie jumps in next to her, licking her face and whimpering. If she could, she’d stay like this forever.

But then she remembers that she has responsibilities, and some Tylenol in her cupboard. Reluctantly, she rises to take the medicine, clutching her stomach so that she doesn’t double over.

* * *

“How are you feeling?” Claire asks, when Popuri answers her call on the first ring. Her fingers are still shaking from when she dialed the number, and her stomach still feels like it’s getting repeatedly kicked by someone wearing soccer cleats. Her friend merely groans on the other line.

“I _just_ got out of bed now.”

“Same.” Claire gives a small laugh, but her attempt at it is so pathetic and forced that it makes her want to cry.

“I don’t even remember you and Gray knocking on my window to give me the pill,” says Popuri, her voice lowering so that her mother can’t hear her. “And I don’t even remember Kai’s stupid reason for not being the one to go.”

“He was a disaster last night, Pope. You both were. It totally wouldn’t have made sense.”

“I’m just so upset with him,” she replies with a huff. “Like, really upset.”

“I get it. But honestly, I truly don’t think that he meant to.” Claire thinks about Gray’s words. Were they both to blame? Did it really take two to drunkenly dance in this case?

“I don’t care! He’s always so irresponsible when it comes to that; I wouldn’t put something like this past him.”

“I know. I understand. I’d be upset too.”

Popuri pauses for a long time. “Claire, what if this doesn’t work?”

This thought hasn’t even crossed her mind. _Imagine all of that happened last night for nothing._ “It will,” Claire tries to say levelly, scanning her brain for the success-rates listed on the back of the _Plan B_ pack. “You took it ASAP.”

“I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t wanna get a… well, you know.”

Claire swallows. An abortion hasn’t even crossed her mind, either. “I know.”

“What would you do if you were me?”

This question catches her off-guard. What _would_ she do?

Her answer feels stupid the second that it falls out of her lips. “Pray,” she decides. “I guess I’d just pray.” As if a simple _Hail Mary_ would reverse the effects of that kind of mistake.

Popuri sighs. “Lately, that’s been doing me no good.” There is a static noise on the other line, as though her friend is twirling the telephone cord around her finger. “Kai left. He slept on my floor all night. Like, can you believe that? I mean, what if my mother walked in?”

“At least he’s feeling better enough to get up,” says Claire.

“ _I_ woke him up.”

“Oh.”

“And kicked him out.”

 _“Oh.”_ She pauses. Kai isn’t a bad guy at all, at least, not in her opinion. Sure, he’s smooth-talking, playful, and immature, but Claire sees the way that he looks at Popuri. It’s a look of love, the kind that you’d find in the perfect romantic film. Like, the way that Johnny Depp looks at Winona Ryder in _Edward Scissorhands_. “I think that he feels awful, Popuri.”

“Yeah, he should,” she snaps, stopping to sniffle her nose. “I do too, though. I _never_ wanted to take this stuff. It totally messes with your insides.”

“I _really_ believe that it was an accident.”

It’s like Popuri hasn’t heard her, though. “Ugh, wanna know what he said to me? He was all like, ‘well, you could have gone on birth control, too.’ _LIKE,_ is that the point?! And he knows that I tried a few last year, but they were all so awful. How can anyone be such an insensitive jerk?”

 _Yikes. Things not to suggest to your girlfriend at a time like this._ “Maybe he didn’t-”

“And I gave it up to him, Claire.” Now, Popuri is crying, her voice heightened with sadness, tears tripping over her words. “I was going to wait ‘till I was married, ‘till I found the right guy, and he just… he convinced me that we’d be together forever. Like, he’s _so_ convincing. And I did it, and now I lost it, and I’m so upset, and-”

“But, you guys are still together, right?” Did she really “lose” anything? Was there anything tangible to “lose?”

Popuri scoffs and Claire’s heart sinks. “Uhmm, _no._ We’re _done.”_

“‘Done?’ What do you mean ‘done?’”

“‘Done’ like ‘ _done.’_ He’s consistently irresponsible, and a complete egomaniac, _and_ a serial _flirt._ I’m so over him.”

“Pope, you’re going to throw all that you guys have away over one mistake?”

“ _I_ made a mistake. _I_ put my drunken trust in him. And I don't need this... I'd rather be alone. We are _so_ through.”

 _Rather be alone?_ "Alone" was what Claire was for most of her seventeen years of life. Who would actively choose that over being with someone that they loved? “But-”

“Claire, how would you feel if Gray-”

“If Gray what?” Claire asks, confused.

Popuri coughs. “Trent,” she says quietly. “I meant Trent.” Clearing her throat attentively, she mumbles: “Look, forget it. Just know that I’m done with his crap.”

“Oh man.” _How many Ben and Jerry pints is_ this _breakup going to require? “_ I’m so sorry. Did you tell him that?”

“Yup. Didn’t believe me. Told me I needed to calm down. I could be totally pregnant right now and _I_ need to _calm down?!”_

When she says nothing in response, Popuri lowers her voice and softens her tone. “Are you okay?”

Claire finds herself weakly smiling, even though Popuri obviously can’t see her. “I called to ask about you, not the other way around.”

“You just seem distant.”

“I’m tired, and I have a lot on my mind right now.” She rubs her lower stomach. “Plus my period is being a you-know-what today.”

“You’re lucky to have one,” Popuri says wistfully. “I wish Karen were here right now. She’d totally know what to say, and would never blab about it to my brother.”

“True. But maybe me, you, and Ann could all hang out later. A much needed girls night, y’know?” Claire had previously contemplated pure solitude, but what good would that do? She could use her friends right now, and telling them about what happened last night would be a total weight lifted from her heavy chest.

“Ann’s got a date with Cliff tonight, and I’m spending the evening with my mom,” Popuri says apologetically. “We have to plan for the Chicken Festival by ourselves, with Rick gone on his honeymoon and all. But I really, really appreciate it. Thank you again, Claire. You and Gray are so awesome.”

Claire smiles. It’s nice to have friends; it really is. “Don’t sweat it.”

“I gotta go, but I love ya, chicky. Thank you so much.”

“Love ya, too.”

The line goes dead. Claire needs… no, _requires,_ this Tylenol to kick in right now. Maybe she should take a Midol, too. Or get Trent to concoct a hybrid of both using his brilliant mind. Even though he despises painkillers and says that they ruin the liver while only providing temporary relief.

_Trent._

The next call is crucial. Before she breaks down. The line picks up after the last ring.

“Hi,” Claire breathes into the phone, her voice wavering. How much longer can she pretend that she isn’t shaken up? And how much longer is it going to take for her hands to stop shaking? Gray kicked the heck out of that guy; what’s done is done. She should be okay by now, so why isn’t she?

Because the thief’s hands still feel like phantoms on her skin, tracing over her like a ghost. Covering her mouth, groping her, squeezing her… she feels filthy.

“Did you just wake up?” Trent asks on the other end. She can hear him rustling through his papers.

“Yeah.”

“You barely even drank last night.” The call makes a crackling noise, like it’s been put on speakerphone.

Claire feels her eyes instinctively well-up with tears. “Are you free at all today? I’d love to come see you. Maybe bring you some fresh milk.” She squeezes the receiver between her shoulder and her ear, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I just need someone to talk to.”

There’s a long pause. She wishes that she could see his face, his sheepish smile, his nervous habit of fiddling with his stethoscope. “I’m swamped today, Claire,” says Trent. “I’m really sorry. Work is crazy.”

“Oh.”

“Is everything okay?”

His voice is filled with such concern. This is her sweet, smart, at times, socially inept, but good-natured boyfriend. How could she _ever_ think of him so poorly, just because his physical needs got in the way of things? How could she keep denying him of something that girlfriends gave to their boyfriends? He isn’t anything like that guy last night… despite what Gray thinks. Trent doesn’t take advantage of her; he _cares_ for her. He's helping to eliminate her scars, both mentally and physically. Despite their short time together, Claire really believes that he might even love her. Maybe she actually loves him.

“We can just talk another time,” Claire tells him. “You sound busy.”

“Thank you for understanding. I hope you have a good day. You know, whatever is left of it!”

And the line clicks. She cradles the phone receiver in her hands, tears streaming down her face, wanting nothing more than the simple touch of her boyfriend. A knock hits her door.

Claire can just leave the person waiting, run some cold water over her face to mask her instability, or do a mental screw it and open the door in the state that she’s in.

She picks the latter.

“Hi,” Claire manages out. Gray stands on the other side of her door, brow furrowing.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Why?” She squeezes her eyes tightly, shutting them in an attempt to mask her tears away.

“You’re crying.”

“I’m _always_ crying,” Claire says dryly. “I’m like Rachel from _Friends.”_

“What?”

“Nevermind.” She wipes at her eyes again. “You never get my pop-culture references.”

“’Cause they’re always dumb,” Gray says, the corner of his mouth lifting.

She doesn’t even realize that she’s still wearing her pajamas, the matching set from _Old Navy_ with the see-through white t-shirt and baby blue shorts. Plus, a shiver is running down her spine, meaning that her nipples are probably totally visible. _Why why why why why why WHY?_

Gray’s eyes are only fixated on hers, though. “I thought you might be hungry,” he says. “Uh, and I know you like breakfast-”

_Who doesn’t like breakfast?_

“You didn’t have to buy me anything.” Claire just realizes now that he’s holding a red container in his hands.

He gives it to her, his face stoic and cold, a portion of his jaw scraped. The blood has dried over it, scabbed along his five o’clock shadow. “I _made_ you this.”

She gingerly lifts the lid to look inside of it. “You made me some oatmeal?”

“You don’t like? I thought I remember you saying-”

Claire blinks. “I love oatmeal.”

Gray nods. “Well, there you go then.”

“I didn’t know you could cook.”

A cocky smirk that she’s come to know graces his face. “Do I look fucking incapable?”

She smiles genuinely for the first time that day. “With cooking, yeah.”

“Well, I actually didn’t know that you had to _boil_ the water to make it.”

“Stooge,” Claire laughs.

“It’s a good thing Kai owed me one.” Gray stuffs his hands in the pockets of his board shorts, rocking back on his heels. “Actually, he owes us _both_ about five.”

Claire throws her arms around him gratefully, hugging him tight. He’s wearing cologne, but he still smells like the woods, as if he’s been working outside. “You’re the best,” she says. “You really are.”

* * *

“It’s _very_ sweet,” Claire tells him, after taking a bite-full. She zips up the sweater that she’s thrown over her loungewear, wondering if he downed the whole batch with Splenda while Kai wasn't looking. Her mouth feels sticky.

Gray nods, seating himself across from her at her kitchen table. “I added lots of maple syrup.”

She stabs her spoon in it, watching it get stuck between the dense rolled oats. “And also very lumpy.”

Gray arches his eyebrow, the one with the barbell in it. He slightly winces. “I’m working on it, alright?”

She touches his arm. “I _love_ lumpy oatmeal.”

He shakes his head. “You’re actually a freak.”

“ _You’re_ the one that doesn’t know how to boil water.”

“I never said I didn’t know how to _boil_ water, I just didn’t know it was necessary for _cooking.”_ Gray picks up a whiney Maggie from the floor, placing her in his lap to scratch her ears. “Kai said that adding milk as it cools makes a big difference in the thickness.”

Claire nods, taking another bite. She didn't realize how hungry she was. “It really does. That’s like, a Food Network hack.”

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

“How’s he doing?”

“What, with the break-up?” Gray scoffs. “He’s good. His motto’s always been that to get over someone, you gotta get under someone else. Trust me, he’ll be alright.”

Claire makes a face. “But they were in _love._ I don’t think that that’s a healthy way to heal a broken heart at all.”

“He’s fine.”

“Ten bucks says he’s not.”

Gray sticks his hand out dubiously. “Ten bucks says he is.”

She shakes his hand to place the bet, not realizing how vigorous her action is. “What’s wrong?” he asks, squinting at her.

Claire chews on one of her nails, a nervous habit that is both unattractive and kind of gross. “I’m just… very angry.”

“At me?”

“I’m always angry at you,” she says coyly. “Just like you are with me, 24/7.” Claire hopes that her sarcasm is conveyed, because she isn’t angry with him at all; she’s completely grateful for his company. Grateful for when he came to her rescue last night, grateful for their friendship, grateful for him just being _him_.

He scowls. “I’m never angry at you.”

“Bull.”

“I’m always _irritated_ by you.”

She smiles, pinching his cheek. “Don’t lie. You like spending time with me.”

“Your presence is the exact opposite of a hangover remedy,” Gray counters, rubbing his temples. “What’d you do today?”

“Um, _slept.”_ She pauses. “Checked up on Popuri… called Trent.”

“What did you tell him?”

Claire puts the now-empty container of oatmeal down, swallowing her last few spoonfuls. “Nothing. I can’t do it over the phone.”

“And he’s too busy for you.”

She glares at him. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Gray adjusts his hat. “I’m just saying.”

“Well, _please_ don’t.” Claire rises from her seat to rinse his container at the sink. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

“You never wanna hear it.”

“Gray-”

“You shouldn’t be afraid to tell him anything.” He’s still seated, his voice firm over the sound of the running water.

Something inside of her snaps. Maybe it's the fact that the Tylenol _still_ hasn't fully kicked in yet, or that she has no desire to receive any sort of lecture today. Claire turns around, her hands full of soapsuds and her eyes blazing. Gray recoils slightly at her voice, tucking his chair back a bit. “Gray, I’m cramping really bad and I _really_ don’t need this right now.” Her lower lip trembles as she looks out her window. The last thing that she wants to do is lift up her stupid watering can or tend to all of her weeds. Her breasts are sore, her back is aching, her uterus is contracting, and she really hates the fact that she's a female right now. “Plus, I still haven't even _started_ my stupid farm work yet."

Gray stares at her. “I did it already.”

“Huh?”

“I did all your shit.” He squints at her again. “I dunno how it takes you such a long time. All you do is complain about it, but it was easy.”

Claire stares back at him. “Why? Why did you do that?”

“You’re supposed to say ‘thank you,’ you pain in the ass.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Claire stammers. “Thanks... you didn’t have to.” And she feels herself crying all over again. 

Gray widens his eyes, rising from his seat to rush over to her. She quickly wraps her arms around him, sobbing into the fabric of his shirt the way that she did last night.

“Blondie, why are you crying?” he asks, panic edged in his voice.

“I dunno!” Claire wails, her words muffled by his chest. She's _such_ a crybaby... how any of the nuns dealt with her emotional outbursts growing up, she'd never know. 

“Well… _stop_.”

_How can someone be so good at the whole comforting thing?_

“Claire,” Gray says, his voice a little pleading. He gently squeezes his arms around her, as if to remind her that he's there. “ _Please_ don’t cry. What’s wrong? Don’t be… sad.”

She looks up at him, eyes blazing once again, causing him to release her in a panic. “I’m not sad,” she snaps. “I mean, I’m emotional because of my stupid period, but I’m just so… _angry._ ” Claire pulls away from him, crossing her arms with an irritated huff. “What makes a creep think that he can just do crap like that? I mean, you don’t see _girls_ going around grabbing guys by their… by their-”

Gray holds his hands up like he doesn’t want to hear her to finish the sentence. “I know, I know.”

“'You know’ what?”

“I just don’t like when you’re mad,” he says with a grimace.

Claire points to the scab on his face. “Like _you_ are any better when you’re mad?”

Gray shifts his eyes away from hers. “You just… I dunno. It’s unsettling to see you like that.”

“Newsflash, you aren’t the only person on the planet who's allowed to have a temper. Seeing _you_ mad is scary.”

His cheeks flame. “I’m sorry.”

“But you don't need to be sorry. I’m not mad at _you._ I… I’m _grateful_ for what you did last night, it’s just-”

“I know.”

“'You know’ what?”

He brings his hat over his face further. “I-I dunno.”

Claire sighs. “I just wanna punch something.”

“You want to what?”

“Punch something. Like, hit something. Hit that damn _thief._ ” She looks like she’s considering what to say next. “In the nuts.”

“Fuck that cunt.”

“That's such a bad word, Gray.”

“You sound like my mom,” he muses, rubbing his neck thoughtfully. He stares at her casual attire. “Get dressed.”

Claire frowns. “What?"

"You heard me."

"Where are we going?”

“Outside.”

* * *

“I don’t want to punch _you,_ ” Claire hisses, standing outside of her farmhouse. It’s mid-afternoon in the sweltering heat, and the sun seems to be beating down on the both of them with extreme force. The highly supportive sports bra that she wears under her baggy athletic shirt is making her breasts feel even sorer, and the humid temperature really isn’t helping. _Does it honestly have to be this hard to be a girl?_

Gray has Maggie in his arms again, but he places her down against the bed of grass gently. She barks and tugs at his shoelaces with her teeth. “You’ve never wanted to punch me?”

Claire purses her lips with a laugh. “Well, I didn’t say that.”

Gray’s expression stays serious, though. “Go ahead. Try your best to hit me.”

“What if I hurt you?”

He smirks. “You won’t.”

“I might.”

“Trust me, you won’t. Go!”

Under his command, she reluctantly tries to ram her fist into his chest. Gray’s palm instantaneously squeezes over her knuckles, blocking her hit instantly. Claire’s eyes go big.

“What do you think you’re doing striking there?” he snaps.

“Well… I dunno!” _How did he know that I was going to do that? And how’d he block it so quickly?_

Gray loosens his grip to release her fist, shaking his hand out. “Dummy.”

She scrunches her nose up at him. “You suck.”

“No, apparently, _you_ suck,” says Gray. He narrows his light eyes at her. “If you’re aiming to hurt someone in order to protect yourself, don’t bother going for their chest. That’s gonna do nothing, or it can easily be stopped the way I just did. And if you _do_ aim for the chest, you need to go for the solar plexus.”

Claire’s mouth presses into a tight line. “The _what?”_

“The solar plexus,” answers Gray. “Lower than the sternum, but higher than the stomach.”

“How would you even-”

“Have you seen _Happy Gilmore?”_ he asks impatiently.

“Um, _yes._ Like, a hundred times." Claire grins

Gray smiles back at her, no longer looking irritated. “Okay, when the Price is Right guy hits him like, before he keeps punching him in the face, he goes for his solar plexus.”

She can’t help but snicker. “How’d you even think of that?”

“I gotta break shit down for you using movies, you cinephile.” He shakes his head, turning his cap backwards. “Anyway, that’s a good spot, but it takes lots of practice. The easiest would be to aim for someone’s nose, their jaw, or their throat.”

“Their throat?!”

“Why do you think they tell MMA fighters to keep their chins down?”

“They do?”

He sighs. “You’re fucking lost.”

 _He’s just figuring this out now?_ “Uh, yeah, I _am_ lost.”

“Try punching me again. Go for any of the spots we just talked about.” Gray takes her hand, moving her fist in an upward motion for her. “If you’re going to hit the jaw, though, you should try and go for an uppercut motion.”

She frowns again. “I just don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Pretend I’m that cock,” says Gray, standing back.

“Which one?” Claire asks dryly. “According to you, I have lots in my life.”

“Er, you might wanna refrain from saying that.”

She strikes his solar panel or plexiglass or whatever the heck he called it, surprised when her hand returns back to her in pain. “Agh!”

Gray gawks at her incredulously. “Why would you include your thumb in the punch? You’re just asking for it to get broken in the process.” He takes her hand, intentionally moving her thumb out of the way as he closes her fist for her. He stares. “You’re a lefty?”

“Yup,” she says.

“Okay, Southpaw stance.”

“What?”

Gray sighs again. He's been doing that a lot today. “Right hand out, right foot forward, Blondie. Now, you’re going to cross me.”

“I’m going to what?”

“Fuck's sake.”

“I’m actually _trying.”_

“I know. That’s the sad part.”

And they go back and forth like this for some time. He tells her what to do and how to do it, she does it wrong a majority of the time before actually getting it, they move on to practicing it, then he teaches her a new skill. They “break” to run, as per Gray’s suggestion, though she hates this part the most. Claire doesn’t even realize that they’ve been outside for hours, until she watches the sun lowering into the horizon, a warm pocket burying itself in the painted sky.

“Again,” says Gray, snapping her into focus. Maggie pouts under the tree next to him, rolling on her back to demand more attention.

“But, my arms are sore,” she complains.

“Okay, then we’re going for another run.”

“Okay, okay, okay. I’m _going.”_ Claire accidentally pummels her fist into him, clocking his jaw. Her hand flies to cover her surprised mouth. “Oh no! Ohmigosh, Gray, I’m _so_ sorry!”

He rubs the spot that she’s hit, nodding. “That was really, really good. Next time, you need to try driving your elbow more.”

She rushes over to him, staring at the red spot that she inflicted. It’s on the other side of his jaw that wasn’t injured yesterday, but it sure looks like it smarts. She touches it. “Are you okay?”

Gray shakes it off. “Yes. Now go back into your Southpaw stance. Utilize your right hand to drive the first punch, and then quickly move to your next.” He stands behind Claire, pressing himself against her to physically manipulate her arms. “Try it again.” Maneuvering her hand forward, he has her punching the air in front of her with force.

Claire smiles. “I bet I could have hurt that jerk badly if I knew all of this yesterday.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why this shit is important.” Gray walks in front of her, grabbing both of her petite hands with his larger ones. The callouses on his skin are rough against her own. “If someone’s got you locked like this, do you know what you have to do?”

“Um, when the guy grabbed me like that, I could only spit on him, so-”

“You need to drive your knee up,” he says. “Bring it up hard and push it into his groin. He’ll keel over right away from that.”

“Is that the same thing as blue balls?”

Gray stares at her. Her question clearly catches him by surprise. “What the hell? _No._ Blue balls is uncomfortable… I-I guess, but it’s really just a bullshit excuse that guys use to try and get laid.” He peers at her crossly. “Why?”

“No reason."

“This doesn’t… there’s no term for this. It’s literally just called getting kicked in the balls.”

“Oh.” She pauses. “This guy at my high school used to call them 'brovaries.'”

“Amazing,” Gray says slowly. “I’m… so happy you shared that with me.”

“Aren’t you? I can tell.” Claire winks, realizing that she’s truly met her sarcastic match.

“You’re so funny.”

“Really?”

“Funny looking.”

She scowls. “Remember how I said I was afraid to hurt you?” She drives her leg out, kicking high. “Well, I'm actually not anymore. Why don't you c’mere; let me practice sacking you.”

“Focus, Blondie.” Gray chuckles between his words, shaking his head at her. “Again. Let’s try it all over again.”

* * *

She pushes open the door to her farmhouse, groaning. “Oh man, I’m _so_ tired.”

“I’m _so_ hungry,” says Gray, yawning. The coolness of her home feels nice against his skin. They must have been outside in the heat for more than five hours of straight, gruelling training. He hardly broke a sweat, given the commanding role that he took, but Claire looks worn out.

“When are you not?” she asks with a laugh, walking over to her sink to wash her hands. “Do you want me to make something? I have a pizza dough that I can pop in the oven.”

 _Pizza would be a Godsent._ “Are you sure?”

“Yup.” Claire uses her arm to brush back the wispy bits of hair that have fallen out of her ponytail. “If you can just grab the tomato sauce and cheese in my fridge, I’ll spread the dough out.”

“Do you need me to do anything?” Gray asks tentatively, after Claire’s finished. She had ordered him out of the kitchen angrily after he tried helpfully pouring the sauce on the not-yet spread out dough ball.

“Um, I’m super sweaty and I really need to shower. Can you put the pizza in the oven and watch it?” Claire puts her hand on her hip. “Middle rack, please. Are you capable of that?”

He can feel his cheeks getting hot. “Oh, uh, I can leave if you want.”

Claire pulls the scrunchie out of her hair, long, blonde tendrils tumbling down her shoulders. She looks at him like he’s the biggest idiot on the planet. “Gray, then who’s going to man the pizza?”

He just presses his mouth into a tight line, saying nothing, because this is what she does: leaves him speechless.

He and Maggie seat themselves on the tiled floor of her kitchen as he watches the pizza rise through her oven window, the mozzarella browning and bubbling on top, the basil wafting a delicious aroma through her house. The sound of water running rushes through his ears as Claire silently disappears into her bathroom.

This isn’t supposed to be a compromising position at all, not even in the slightest... because it just _isn’t_. This is her house, and she’s allowed to shower, and he’s been assigned a task that he isn’t supposed to screw up, and it’s totally fine. You know, as long as her boyfriend doesn’t pay some sort of surprise visit, because Gray isn't naïve like her; he's fully aware that Trent wouldn't like this one bit.

Fifteen minutes later, he struggles to figure out which way the oven mits go on, rising to pull the piping hot pizza out of the stove. Somehow, he's managed to overcook it a bit, and by a bit he means a lot. Gray drops it on her counter, shaking his heated hands out.

"Um, Gray?" Claire's voice catches him by surprise, muffled over her closed bathroom door.

He panics. "Wh-what do you need?"

Her voice is impatient. "Could you just like, go outside for a sec, please?" 

Oh, so _now_ she wants him to go outside. That's what he initially suggested. He doesn't wanna be in her home while she's _showering._

_Wait, it's probably so that she can get dressed._

That would make sense. He can feel himself blushing again. For someone who's literally showered with girls, he really doesn't know how to not be an awkward fuck when one is showering _without_ him.

_You're an idiot, Gray._

"Yeah," he answers, tossing the oven mits off. He walks out of her front door, turning to close it. Through the ajar crack, Gray catches a glimpse of her as she exits her bathroom. A crisp, white towel is clung to her wet body.

He slams the door shut nervously. One day, Gray will learn to play it cool. Until then, he'll be with Claire, subjected to a series of compromising positions.

* * *

“What the hell is this?” he asks, back in her farmhouse. Claire adjusts the knob on her radio, huffing at him. Her hair is wrapped in a smaller towel.

"You burnt the pizza. I don't know how you managed, but you did," she snaps, swatting a napkin at him.

"What the hell is this?" he repeats again, pointing at her radio. She isn’t playing the modern dance shit of today, or anything like that. No. She's playing _worse:_ 80’s dance shit.

Claire glares at him. “It’s Whitney Houston and I love her and you said I couldn’t play my greatest hits CD’s outside while we were training and it’s my house and I’m playing them now.” She sticks her tongue out at him, dividing the pizza crust into eight slices using a knife.

Gray places four pieces on his plate, four on hers. “How are you good at cooking, again?” asks Gray, taking a bite of the slice. It’s airy and fluffy with a tasty crunch, rivalling anything that his mom had previously made for him, even if he did accidentally overcook it a tad. He picks off a piece of the crust, tossing it to Maggie. “Like, you grew up in a church that’s known for serving stale crackers.”

Claire shakes her head at him, swallowing her mouthful of pizza and placing the slice down. When her face is bare like this, without a stitch of makeup on, it makes her sun freckles stand out more prominently. “It’s called the ‘host,’ and you’re honestly really terrible.” She smirks. “Is this you starting a round of twenty questions?”

Gray rolls his eyes. “Sure.”

“Well, I mostly learned in high school when I had to take home economics,” she says. “But those recipes were super basic, so one of the girls from the church had this massive cookbook, and we'd always pick recipes from there to make dinners at the convent." She winks. "I'm kinda like a self-proclaimed Rachael Ray, but cooler.”

“That was the most uncool statement I’ve ever heard.”

“Bite me,” she scoffs. “It's my turn.”

“Go.”

“What’s the worst trouble you’ve ever gotten in? _”_

“I used to get into trouble all of the time. You gotta be more specific.”

“I’m talking _worst. Worst_ worst.”

“I dunno. There was this one time I told my tenth grade math teacher off, and he refused to pass me, even though I was getting an eighty.” He shrugs. "So I slashed his tires."

Claire widens her eyes. "You did not."

"I did. And my parents were _so_ pissed. My mom was bawling, asking where she went wrong with me, and even though I could tell my dad thought it was badass, he agreed with my mom and I got grounded for like, the entire summer." Gray thinks for a moment, recounting this memory. "Oh, and I got suspended for the last two weeks of school."

"Why'd you tell him off?"

Gray frowns. "This guy was such a derogatory fuck. He said something to Kai that was totally racist, and everyone in the class was so taken aback, but he preached that he didn't mean it in that way, and that our generation was always too sensitive, blah blah blah, and I was like, 'maybe your cunt is sensitive,' and-"

"You _said_ that?" She doesn't bother hiding the blatant shock from her voice.

"Yeah. I didn't care if I got suspended. But he couldn't just fail me if I wasn't getting below a fifty." He leans back in his chair, smirking. "You know, I'm actually pretty good at math."

Claire giggles. "Oh man, I _hate_ math."

"I hate math _teachers,"_ counters Gray. "But yeah, that was the worst trouble I'd ever gotten in."

Claire nods, as if considering it all. "You're like that guy in _The Breakfast Club."_

"Who? The Brain?"

"As if. You were clearly the Criminal," she replies with a snicker. "It's your turn."

"Okay, where do all of your clothes come from? You dress like a reject on _Saved by the Bell_.”

“Um, I was going for Joey from _Dawson’s Creek_ , but thanks.” Claire smooths her vintage, acid washed shirt out, crossing her arms over her chest. “If I'm being real, most of it is honestly stuff I bought from the thrift store.” She blushes. “But not like, socks or intimates or anything like that! Those I’d obviously… like, buy new.”

“So you thrifted your overalls, your Levi’s, your baggy t-shirts, your-”

“ _Duh_ _._ I mean, all of the members of our church got first dibs at the Salvation Army."

"So where'd you get this money to thrift? Where'd you get your money in general?"

She fixes her gaze on the floor. "It's super lame."

"Just tell me."

"But that'd be two questions in a row for you."

"That's tough. Tell me."

"Well, my mom left me some money."

"Mhm, and what else?"

"... And I used to work at Build-a-Bear," Claire finally answers with a stifled laugh. And he is ridiculously laughing with her, nearly choking on a piece of his pizza. "What?!"

"That _is_ super lame. That's like... I would have bullied you for that, if I knew you back in high school."

"Shut up! I loved it." She pushes him playfully from across the table, knocking his water over by accident. "Oh, shoot."

" _This_ is why... people didn't talk to you," he says with a laugh. "You blame it on being the weird church-girl... _nah._ It's because you were the weird stuffed-bear-girl."

She grabs her side, doubling over in her seat from laughing so hard. "You're so mean, Gray. Leave me alone! I actually liked working with kids."

"I fucking hate kids."

"You're _heartless._ You would _not_ have been approved to adopt a bear." She pauses until they're both finished laughing, going in for her next question. “Do you have a middle name?”

"Why? Are you going to name your next bear after _me?"_

"You wish!"

He takes a drink of his water, regaining his composure. “It was supposed to be Damianos, but my parents shortened it to Damian.”

“That sounds Greek.”

“My mom was Greek.”

“Get out! Oh my gosh, Gray, that’s like-”

“John Stamos? Like I haven’t heard that one before.” He rolls his eyes at her blank expression. “You know how I knew you were gonna say that? Because you’re so friggin’ predictable.”

Claire pouts. “I actually hate you. Just let me love _Full House_.” She pauses. “I didn’t know you were Orthodox.”

“Does it look like I practice it?”

“Guess not. Did your mom have a Greek name?”

“It was Stamatina, but everyone just called her Tina.”

“That’s so pretty,” Claire remarks.

His father, being a carpenter and all, had carved a chest for his mother's fortieth birthday, inscribing her name in neat calligraphy on it, as well as the meaning behind it. Only, his dad had translated it incorrectly, believing that her name meant "stop" when it actually meant "morning." Plus, _no one_ called her by her full name, but his mom had smiled upon receiving the gift, saying it was always the thought that counted.

“What’s your middle name?” Gray asks, in attempt to escape his thoughts.

"It's Naomi. From the Old Testament."

He arches his eyebrow. "How do you even spell that?"

"Gray, you are so annoying." She looks as though she's contemplating her next question for quite some time. "Why are you always angry?"

"Because of you. Because you make me angry."

"I knew it."

"Because everything sucks."

“Everything does not suck.”

“Why do you care?” he asks, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice.

Claire twists her mouth into a smile. “Well, I don't know if you know this, but no one wants to be around a miserable jerk.”

“And yet here you are: Saturday night, your only company a miserable jerk.”

“And a cute dog,” she says, lifting Maggie into her lap. As per usual, though, her own puppy would much rather scamper over to him, something that confuses him to this day. “The thing is, you aren’t though. You’re actually very sweet under that rough, horrible exterior. I mean, don’t you ever want to settle down?”

Gray does his best to not turn red at her statement. _“No.”_

“You don’t ever want to get married?”

"Nope."

"Or have kids?"

Gray stares. "I told you that I don't like kids. You think I want a bunch of little rugrats running around? You're dreaming."

"That's horrible."

"Oh well." He looks her over, wondering why he even bothers saying these next words. "You know, Blondie, I don't remember the last time that we spent the whole day together."

It's true. Ever since her precious doctor had come into her life after destroying his, Gray's been seeing less and less of her; a notion that he isn't too fond of. He looks forward to being with her, when an argument regarding Trent isn't looming over both of their heads. And the creep thought that he could intimidate Gray into staying away from Claire. _Ha._

He isn't even planning on telling her that the real reason for training her in self-defense is because of said creep.

"You're too busy for me," Claire replies with a shrug, deflecting any and all blame off of herself, onto him.

"That's so bullshit," he says, without meaning to do so that harshly.

"I know." She frowns. "I'm sorry, I know it's me. Things have been crazy lately."

"Crazy," Gray repeats sarcastically.

Claire gives him the cut-eye, rising to take her empty plate to the sink. “You know, it made me really happy to see you both sharing a drink at the wedding yesterday." She unwraps the small towel from her wet hair, turning to him, her eyes softening. “It told me that you’re both willing to put aside your differences for me.”

Gray is taking a drink of his water as she says this, nearly choking. He coughs, barking out a laugh, much to her annoyance. “You really are dreaming, Blondie. I wish you were a fucking fly on the wall for that conversation.”

She glares at him, her hand clenched tightly beside her, the hope on her face quickly wilting. "Why are you like this?"

“You wanna know what we really talked about?”

“No, Gray, I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

"I don't," she snaps, making her way over to grab his plate. He notices a red spot under her hand, one that isn't from the pizza sauce. Gray gently grabs it from her, putting the plate down on her counter. He takes her hand in his, flipping it over to stare at her palm. There's that tiny prick wound smack dab in the middle of it, but underneath is four nail marks, slightly bloody from her fist being so clenched.

“You're still bleeding,” he says, staring.

Her hand flies away from his, closer to her face in order to inspect the damage done. “Oh,” she mumbles.

A knock erupts at her door, one that is both loud and projected, yet low and rumbling. Claire freezes.

"You better get that," Gray tells her, clearing off the rest of her table, placing the remainder of the dirty dishes in the sink. "Wouldn't wanna leave him waiting."

Claire shoots him another frosty glare, making her way to the door. He swears that her body is tremoring again, but he could just be imaging things. What he really doesn't expect is for it to be Kai on the other side of her door.

His friend throws his arms around Claire immediately, burrowing his face into her shoulder and sobbing _hysterically_. Claire's eyes are like saucers, staring at Gray for an explanation, but he's wearing the same dumbfounded expression on his own face.

“I’m a …. fucking _wreck,_ ” Kai cries, the crook of her neck muffling his words. “I can’t believe… I can’t believe Pope and I-”

“Relax,” Claire says soothingly. "It's okay, Kai."

"Just... take it easy," mumbles Gray, his eyes still wide. He’s never seen his friend, or any guy for that matter, like this. Well, maybe his father at his mother's funeral, but that's about it. “Just take it easy.”

Claire gently pats Kai’s back as he mutters out cries of incoherent sentences, shifting her eyes toward Gray. “I’d like my ten dollars, please,” she says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a Gray x Claire filled chapter, thought it would be kinda cute. This is long overdue, so I'm REALLY sorry everyone. Life is crazy and I was having such a challenging time writing. I can't even tell you why this was so hard to write... but it was .-.  
> Also my friend worked at Build-A-Bear and after her shifts she'd be like: "oh, beary cool!" or "that's beary interesting" LIKE UNINTENTIONALLY IT JUST SLIPPED OUT LIKE THAT LMAO LIKE WHAT IS THIS PLACE. I'm not hating tho I got three of my own and they're so cute so stfu Gray >:////////  
> Also also, Tina's the name of the main character in Harvest Moon: Magical Melody. Bet u didn't think Gray's mom was once a farmer before moving to the city lmao. I KNOW that game came out after MFoMT, but I've always written Gray's dad as one of the villagers from Save the Homeland (you'll find out who it is soon enough), which was released in 2001. Plus, it's always struck me as being in a different time period than the other games anyway. There was no female main character playable option in that one, and all of those villagers were transported into Magical Melody anyway when it was released, soooo this is the family tree that I've come up with. It'll make more sense later on ;)


	25. The Serenade

“Why do some men suck? _”_ Ann asks incredulously, after Claire has spilt her guts from the incident in Forget-Me-Not Valley two weeks ago. This is the first free opportunity that they've all had to get together. She lies on her back, sprawled out on her bed upside down while staring at the two girls in front of her. “Like, how are some people just so fucking awful?”

“It's not all of them,” Popuri chimes in, staring at her reflection in Ann’s vanity mirror. She twists her hair back with two small French braids, like tiny ropes, pulling them behind her ears to form a pink crown. She hums softly, as if to distract herself from how truly angry she is inside. Considering everything, Claire would say that she’s taking the break-up very, _very_ well. Or, she's just refusing to let in how truly sad she is. “Not your father, or my father, or Gray, or Cliff-”

“Ugh, don’t even get me started with Cliff.” Ann scowls, angrily tossing a tennis ball across the wall from her bed, repeating the action and successfully catching it each time. “The other day, he was all like, ‘why don’t you act more girly?’ And I was like, ‘well, why don’t you suck my dick?’ And my dad overheard; he’s _such_ a snoop. And he was all like, ‘how unladylike.’ As if I give a shit!”

“I haven’t even seen Trent since the wedding. He’s been so busy,” Claire says with a sigh. “It looks like men are seriously letting us down lately.” Though ever since she wrongfully blew up on her boyfriend after he stood her up on their first date, she’s been very understanding of his work ethic. He's a doctor; him taking a day off could mean risking someone else's life. So, she simply calls him each morning and tells herself that she gets it. Plus, he promised that the craziness would die down soon, and she'd be able to see him to tell him everything. _A_ _fter all, absence does make the heart grow fonder._

Ann reaches over to touch Claire’s shoulder, her dark expression softening. “I’m really sorry that happened to you, Claire. I feel like I musta seen that fuckwad when I used to visit Forget-Me-Not Valley. My father stopped letting me go because of how rogue it is there.”

Popuri rises from the vanity to throw her arms around Claire tightly. She’s always been one for hugs. “I feel so awful. I _knew_ something was up the second you and Gray came back.” She looks into her eyes guiltily. “This is my fault.”

Claire hugs her back, shaking her head. “The only person to blame is that nasty freak. But everything happens for a reason. I’m fine. I mean, I wasn’t at first, but talking about it has helped.” She smiles, rolling up her sleeves under her overalls to expose her arm. “Plus, now Gray’s training me to not be so puny and weak. I actually think that I’m already getting stronger!”

“Call a vet, ‘cause these puppies are sick!” laughs Ann, poking Claire’s flexed bicep.

Claire rolls her eyes. “Gosh, you are _so_ lame.”

“ _You_ are lame for fraternizing with the enemy!” Ann says with a _tsk._

Popuri frowns. “It isn’t Claire’s fault that when she hangs out with Gray, Kai tags along because he’s pathetic and hates feeling alone.” She fiddles with a thread on her smocked dress, pulling on it until it runs longer and longer. “Plus, he isn’t the enemy. We had something, and now we don’t. It’s as simple as that.”

Claire puts her hand on Popuri's shoulder. “You seem to be taking all of this well.”

“I mean, I’ve been distracting myself to keep my mind off of things. Once Rick comes home, it won’t even be hard to find a distraction.” Popuri’s eyes shift doubtfully. “How _is_ Kai handling it, by the way?”

Claire smiles weakly. “Well, he totally still misses you and loves you, but I honestly think that he’s doing a lot better.”

* * *

“Gray, this is the fourth night in a row that he’s crying on my couch,” Claire says with a sigh. Sure enough, Kai is curled up in a fetal position, sobbing into a dampened pillow like she did when she was fifteen, after watching _A Walk to Remember._ “The fourth!”

“It is, isn’t it?” Gray is chewing on what she assumes can only be his sixth slice of pizza. “Hey, if I buy a shit ton of flour, do you think you can help me make some dough for my grandfather and I? So we can actually have a decent dinner?”

Claire stares. “You’re serious.”

“I am. I like your pizza.”

“Focus!” She juts Gray’s face to his crestfallen friend on the couch. “This goes beyond being ‘bummed out.’ He’s totally heartbroken!”

Gray grimaces, swallowing his bite. “I know. And he’s seriously cutting into the comedy hour that we’re supposed to watch.”

“Gray!”

“What do you want _me_ to do, Blondie?” He finishes his pizza, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. “He doesn’t wanna hang out, he doesn't wanna play video games, he doesn't wanna confront his feelings. And I’m pretty sure when he cooks he just cries into the grill. I think that the only solace he finds is being around us.”

Claire chews on her cheek. Given that Trent’s been so busy these past few weeks, she and Gray have been hanging out a lot more than usual. Not that she minds of course; being with her best friend is always fun. But Kai’s sobbing presence after his shifts are painful to listen to, especially because she doesn’t know how to help alleviate his sadness. Lately, they’ve been trying to get him to watch stand-up comedy specials with them, in hopes that he’ll, at the very least, chuckle, but so far, the humour only causes his weeping to intensify. “How does he even know when you’re here?”

Gray smirks. “You know if I’m not at home, I’m with you, right? I hardly go anywhere else.”

“But, does he cry like this at your place?” Claire winces at the sound of Kai’s wailing. “This is sort of getting hard to watch.”

He arches his brow. “If my grandfather sees him crying, he’ll shame him out of existence.”

She shakes her head. “You paint Saibara in such a negative image. I don’t believe that for one second.”

“You think people cry in front of him?”

“Do you?”

“I don’t cry.”

She scoffs. “You’re full of it, Gray.”

“I’m not. That’s why I never know what to do when _you_ start bawling.” He shrugs. “But, I think Kai must see your home as some sorta safe-space to lose his shit in, given the nice, feminine environment you’ve got going here.” He gestures toward the room, with her pink wallpaper, collection of assorted fruity teas on the kitchen counter, and vases of seasonal flowers scattered about. “Plus, I mean, _you_ break down often, so... there's also that.”

Claire shoots him a frosty look. “Crying isn’t only for girls, you know. And it’s good to let your emotions out. I mean, I do it all the time-”

“No. Way.”

“-But even _I_ know that this isn’t healthy.” She gives Gray another glare as she walks over to Kai carefully, feeling as though she’s stepping through a landmine. Her voice softens. “Kai, do you want me to make you a tea?”

“No,” he mumbles through tears, his voice muffled by the pillow suffocating his face. “I just… I just want Popuri back.”

“Well, Claire doesn’t have a flavour that can do that,” says Gray, reaching for her box of teas. “ _But,_ she does have some…” He rifles through them quickly and picks one up. “Berry… Hibiscus?” Gray smirks at her. “You would have this kind of shit.”

“Um, that’s actually a really good one,” she points out haughtily.

He scrunches his nose. “I’m more of a coffee person. And how the hell is there even such thing as a tea made of berries-?”

“Popuri loves berries,” Kai sobs, rolling off of the couch and onto her floor. Maggie stops licking her paw for a moment to stare at him blankly, like even she can’t believe what she’s seeing.

Claire sighs. “Now you’ve done it.”

Gray makes a face. “I’ll get another tissue box.”

“I’ll get the mop.”

* * *

The newlywed couple returns the evening after, with beaming smiles and luggage in hand. “We’re baaack!” Karen singsongs, kissing Lillia on both cheeks as she enters Popuri’s house eagerly. Rick trails behind her, hugging his mother “hello.”

“Wow, you got such a nice tan!” Claire exclaims, marvelling at Karen’s olive complexion. Her skin is so sunkissed, like she’s spent weeks lounging in the Barbados. Her green eyes are sparkling too, and even her hair looks lighter, filled with sun-streaks, like she just starred in a Britney Spears music video.

Karen tosses her highlighted locks over her shoulder. “What can I say? The sun loves me.”

“Wish I could say the same for you, Ricky,” Popuri says to her brother. She holds up her translucent wrist to his slightly darker one with a laugh.

Rick smiles, before questionably glancing around the room. He hands his luggage to Popuri, squinting. “Hm. That’s weird.”

Ann frowns. “What?”

Rick stares at his little sister, standing between her friends. “Where’s Kai?” he asks suspiciously. “He’s normally glued to your hip, Pope.”

Ann, Claire, and Popuri say nothing. Even Lillia looks uncomfortable. “My, is that the kettle?” she calls, after no sound has erupted at all. “I believe it is… let me just… go and get that.”

Karen frowns as Lillia walks over to the kitchen. “What, is he working the late shift tonight? Got in debt with some gangsters who _made him an offer he couldn’t refuse_?”

Popuri doesn’t respond to Karen’s poor Godfather impersonation. She’s concentrating on a crack in the wooden floorboard beneath her, looking like she’s trying her hardest not to cry. It’s the first time that Claire’s seen her wavering since she announced the break-up.

“Don’t tell me his wedding gift for me was to finally move away!” Rick muses.

“He’s still here alright,” says Claire quietly.

With a forced wave of her hand, Popuri swallows, having trouble looking her brother in the eyes. “We, um… we’re not together anymore, actually.”

There is a heavy, thick pause in the room. If someone had a knife, Claire swears that they'd be able to cut through the silence with it.

“Uh, say _what?”_ Karen looks at Popuri as if she’s just announced something impossible; like she’s quitting the poultry business to launder money for a drug cartel. “Tell me this is some kind of joke!”

Rick pushes his thick, wire-rimmed glasses up his nose, his expression joyful. “You mean it, Pope? You actually mean it?!”

Popuri huffs, gripping the handle on his luggage hard enough to make her knuckles turn a bone white colour. “Yeah, Rick. I mean it.”

He throws his arms around his sister happily, much to the girls’ dismay. “Oh jeez, this is the best news you coulda given me! I’m so glad you got that deadweight off of your-”

Popuri pushes him off of her, slamming his luggage to the floor in between the two of them with a hard _thud_. She bites her lower lip, spinning on her heel, up the small set of stairs to her room.

Karen glares at her husband. “You idiot,” she mutters, rushing up to Popuri’s room with Ann and Claire darting behind her.

* * *

“Oh snap!” Karen exclaims. She’s sat wide-eyed and silent for Popuri's entire story, her face painted with shock. “Holy fuck, that _really_ sucks.”

“Tell me about it,” says Popuri, falling back on her bed with a groan while Claire fishtails her hair. “I haven’t even gotten my period yet. I’m two days late.”

“It said it could potentially delay it on the package,” Claire points out. “Don’t worry. It’ll all be good.”

Karen frowns. “I had to take it once, but-”

“You did?” Popuri widens her eyes.

She shrugs. “Yeah, it was ‘cause I missed a whole slew of my birth control pills and didn’t use any back-up methods of protection. After that, I figured I’d get an IUD instead. It’s worked ever since.”

“Which one’s that?” asks Ann. “That’s not the shot, is it?”

“No,” says Popuri. “That’s Depo-something. I tried it; it was awful.”

Karen shakes her head. “I don’t like the hormonal ones. I got a copper IUD; that’s the non-hormonal intrauterine device.”

Claire winces. “Ugh, that sounds like it hurts.”

“It was such a bitch when they put it in!” Karen says with a grimace. “And to have Hardy of all people do it.” She shudders. “And _now_ I’m going to have to get it removed.”

“Huh?” Popuri turns over on her side after Claire has secured the end of her fishtail with an elastic. “Why?”

“Your brother and I want kids,” Karen says, poking her forehead. “Duh.”

“Little Ricks and Karens running around,” Claire comments with a laugh.

“What a nightmare!” adds Ann. Karen tosses a pillow at her head.

“Well, I’m going to have a word with that moron when we have a moment,” says Karen, glaring at the door. “But you also need to talk to Kai.”

“As _if,_ Karen,” Popuri snaps. “Besides, I don’t have what he wants. I don’t have the boobs, or the butt, or the hips, or-”

“He only wants you,” she says. “I know he’s a total doorknob, but he really, really loves you, Pope. And I can tell that you still love him. Don’t be stupid.”

“Why am I being stupid? Isn’t this what _your husband_ has wanted all along?”

“My husband, aka your stooge of a brother, thinks that throwing an egg into the hot springs is the correct way to boil them. He’s another one.”

Popuri crosses her arms with a groan. “Let me be a single pringle and exhibit girl power.”

“That kind of empowerment also comes with the territory of taking responsibility for your actions,” Karen chides lightly. “I know that you don’t like when people play devil’s advocate, but I’m just gonna say it: this whole thing is not _entirely_ on Kai.”

Claire watches Popuri’s eye twitch. “Karen, if you think that I dumped him just because of that, then you’re sadly mistaken.”

“Alright, alright.” Karen holds up her hands in mock self-defense. “Don’t go postal on me. Just thought I’d give my two cents. We can stop talking about men now.” Her expression brightens as she climbs off the bed to zip open her backpack. “Let me show you what I got you guys from my honeymoooon.”

“Gifts? Sweet!” Ann’s eyes glimmer.

Karen flicks her head. “I must have forgotten to get you something though, biotch.”

Ann rubs her temple with her middle finger, flipping Karen off. “Quit buggin’ out and show us, Kare.”

“It’s clothes,” says Karen, which elicits a groan from Ann. “ _Actually_ , to be specific, it’s sexy, sexy bathing suits.”

“Why?” Claire has to laugh. “You have _so_ many.”

“It’s an addiction. It’s like Ann’s collection of those nasty Puma sneakers that she loves, for some reason.”

“Oh my God, Karen. Kiss my ass!”

She snickers. “Sorry, I’m on a roll today.” Seating herself on the carpet in the middle of the room, she rifles through her bag. “Okay, well I got you this über cute bikini. It’s stringy, it’ll make your butt look great, and you can’t say no.”

Ann rolls her eyes. “No.”

“It’s yellow.”

“Whatever, fine. Show me.”

Karen retrieves it, tossing the dandelion-coloured two-piece at her. Ann holds it up skeptically, before nodding her approval. “Okay, and for Claire: I got you this one piece, because the last one I tried to give you had all of those slits in it.”

She giggles as Karen throws her a whirl of fire-engine red fabric, catching it successfully. “Oh man! This is giving me serious _Baywatch_ vibes.” It looks like it has a square neckline, with a high leg and cheeky-cut hips.

Karen winks. “I got one for myself in green. The material is super stretchy and forgiving, so I’m thinking I can still wear it if I get knocked up.”

Claire smiles. “Thank you.”

She rummages through her bag one last time gleefully. “And for you, Popuri, I got a bandeau with some super cute, ruffled bottoms.”

Popuri frowns. “What’s a bandeau?”

“It’s like a tube top, but super cropped against your boobs. It’s very cute, and there’s padding, and you’ll look bomb dot com.”

Popuri sighs. “Look, I appreciate it, Kare, but I hate my stomach.”

Karen makes a face. “Why, exactly?”

“It isn't toned at all. I’m not as skinny as you guys.”

“Are you nuts?” Claire lifts the hemline of her shirt, grabbing her own lower stomach. It isn’t as tight as it used to be, but she’s trying to learn to not care as much. Bloating, pooch, and imperfect lower stomachs need to be _way_ more normalized. Besides, she’d rather this than be as unhealthily skinny as she was in high school. “This is called pizza with Gray at like, three in the morning.”

“Pizza?” Karen arches her brow with a smirk. “And at three in the morning, eh?”

Claire makes a face. “Yeah, when Kai is crashing on my couch.”

Karen pitches the swimsuit at Popuri. “Whatever. It’s supposed to be _gorgeous_ tomorrow, so we’re all going to go to the beach, and we’re gonna look smokin’.”

“You don’t understand,” Popuri says with a scowl. “Kai is a total nimrod. Even if I wear this dumb thing, he’ll be so busy looking at someone else’s tits or ass.”

“Ew, gross. Who buys swimsuits to impress _boys_?” Karen gawks. “You gotta wear it for you, and no one else.”

She manages to smile, caving in so easily to her sister-in-law. “You always do know what to say, Kare.” She yawns, crashing back on her bed. “It’s getting late, and I’m _so_ sleepy.”

Ann rises. “I better get going, too.”

“Popuri!” Lillia knocks on her daughter’s door before opening it slightly. The girls all perk their heads up. “Kai is outside… _again.”_

“Tell him I’m not home, _again_ ,” replies Popuri, inspecting her nails.

Lillia frowns. “But, where else would you be at this hour? Just _what_ is going on between you two?”

“Mother,” Popuri huffs. “We will not go into details. All you have to know is that I truly do not care.”

“Oh my God, he has a guitar,” says Karen, deadpanned. She stares out the window. Claire and Ann rush over to peer through it, as Lillia sighs, shutting Popuri’s door.

Ann cranks open the shutter. “What the hell? Why are you _both_ here?”

Gray rolls his eyes, clutching a bass underneath them. “This is your father’s. Kai made me speak to your _father_ to get this _._ And now he wants to _gift_ it to me. I really can’t keep doing that shit.” Kai stands next to him, dry-eyed for the first time in a while, trying to tune his own guitar. Their instruments are plugged in to two small amps, the cord running into an electrical socket by the side of Popuri’s house. The streetlamp near them illuminates their figures like spotlights at a rock show.

“These go up to eleven," he adds, his comment directed toward Claire. She laughs, clearly getting the reference.

“Haha, from _Spinal_ -"

“Popuri!” interrupts Kai loudly. She rushes to her window with blatant irritation, reaching up for the clasps to close it. “WAIT. I… _we_ have prepared a serenade of songs. To showcase my forgiveness.”

Popuri narrows her eyes at him. “Kai, put a sock in it.”

“But, Popuri. I love-”

“-You are _so_ fake.”

“I’m not! My heart _genuinely_ beats for you, baby.”

“Don’t _baby_ me.”

Kai quickly nudges an annoyed Gray, who starts to strum the bassline of that one song by Aerosmith. _You know._ The one from _Armageddon,_ the one that everyone uses as their first dance for their wedding. Kai joins in and all of the girls collectively groan.

“That movie sucked!”

“I’m over this song. What is this, 1999?”

“Ah!" Kai says, panicking. "Okay, that's fine. Let’s just throw it back, then.” He waves his hand for a bemused Gray to cut it out, and begins to strum the opening chords for “Sweet Child O’ Mine.” Ann smacks her face.

“Way to play an overrated song written by crackheads.”

“Hey,” says Gray, strumming. “Only their guitarist was on crack.”

Popuri sighs. “Kai, I’d like to go to bed. And I don’t even enjoy any of these songs.”

Claire frowns. “Who are you trying to appeal to anyway?”

“WAIT, I CAN PLAY BOYZ II MEN!” Kai stares into Popuri’s eyes deeply. “Remember? That one song we used to-” He presses his lips together tightly when he notices daggers shooting out of her eyes toward him.

Karen facepalms. “Kai, so help me GOD, if you play ‘I’ll Make Love to You,’ it'll be the last thing you do,” she warns, but Popuri has already turned away, out of sight from the windowsill. She goes to her, as Kai rushes over to the front door, knocking on it in hopes that Lillia will answer.

Ann rolls her eyes, climbing out of the window. She jumps down, landing on the ground beneath her carefully. “I’m peace-ing out,” she says, dusting her pants off. “See ya!”

Claire leans into the windowsill, sighing as Ann runs home to the inn. “That last one… how exactly did he think that'd be a good choice?”

Gray watches as Kai frantically talks to Lillia at the front door of the house, definitively asking her to deliver yet another message of his love toward her daughter. Rick stands behind his mother, glaring.

“I don’t even know how you’d play bass on that one,” says Gray. He extends his hand to Claire, tall enough to help her out the window of the bungalow, since she’d really rather not go through the front door right now. He catches her with the bass still fastened like a sash around him, her knee accidentally knocking a few strings. A conflicted noise erupts from the instrument.

“Oh, sorry.”

“Ehh?” Barley slowly makes his past them on the street, pressing his cane with each step. “That was a good song, whippersnapper. Play another one, will ya?”

“Crazy old man,” mumbles Gray, as Barely drones on, walking away. "What's that?"

He's pointing to the red, bathing suit fabric that she's forgotten is still clutched in her hands. Claire shrugs. "Oh, you know, a sexy little number, according to Karen."

"A what?"

"You heard me."

"You're hella uncool, Blondie." 

Claire giggles. “What else can you play on that?”

He sits by the tree next to Popuri’s house, with Claire taking a seat beside him. The stars are twinkling tonight, the moon a mere sliver of a crescent. “I’m not a street performer, you know.”

“Show me!” she exclaims, grabbing his arm.

“I’m also not a trick monkey.”

“Oh, stop. I didn’t know you were this good, Gray!”

He shrugs. “I’m not just your regular run-of-the-mill blacksmith.” He starts playing something, a grungy sounding song that she’s never heard before. The rift sounds cool, though, like something you'd hear at an underground punk music scene. “I also do birthday parties.”

Claire laughs. “What’s this one called?”

“’Longview’ by Green Day. You know it?”

“Nope.” She nods to the music. “But you play it really well.”

He nods, stopping to play another one, strumming very carefully. Claire grins. “My mom used to _love_ this song!” _Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell... how iconic._

_“’Aint no Mountain high enough…”_

_“... To keep me from getting to you, baby,”_ she finishes, tapping her foot to the melody.

"You have a pretty voice," Gray says, plucking the chords.

Claire holds her hands as if she's praying. _"It's from the church choir."_

Gray smirks. "You know what I wanna know? Why does the priest have to sing in church? Like, is that necessary? You got the choir for a reason; it's just so fucking creepy."

"Why do you talk?"

"Why do _you_ talk?"

They stare at each other before bursting out laughing. “Do you know how to play anything from the 80’s?” she inquires.

He rolls his eyes. “You and your 80’s.” But he begins to play Queen, 'Another One Bites the Dust.’

She scowls. “Um, this is late 70’s.”

Gray arches his brow. “It’s early 80’s.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“I'm definitely not. You wanna put money on it?”

Claire shrinks back in her seat on the grass. “No. Because you might be right this time.” She shrugs. “For _once.”_

"I'm always right. I've never been wrong in my whole entire life."

"Oh, talk to the hand."

"Listen, my father engrained rock trivia in my mind." Gray points to his temple. "I don't get this shit wrong."

He rarely talks about his father, and when he does, it's usually followed by a snarky remark about him and his drug-addiction. Claire would like to pry, given the fact that she knows so little about his family, but she can tell how fresh that wound still is. Instead, he starts playing 'Living on a Prayer,' from her and her mother's favourite band, which elicits a scream from Claire. "Ahh! Bon Jovi!"

Gray squints at her, not looking at the instrument as he strums it. “You’re like every suburban mom ever.”

“This song is my _favourite.”_

“'Cause it has 'prayer' in the title?”

 _“'Cause it has 'prayer' in the title,”_ she mimics in a pitched voice, wrinkling her nose at him. “I can play this on the flute, you know. It took me forever, but I learned it!”

He chuckles. “You are _such_ a loser.”

Claire grabs his hat, turning the cap backwards as she throws it on her head. “C’mon, Gray! Let’s run away and form a band together." She maneuvers her fingers into the rock and roll symbol.

"Yeah, right."

"Wanna come to the beach tomorrow?"

Gray glances at the bathing suit in her hands for a brief second, before averting his gaze to hers dubiously. “You know, Blondie, I’ve been seeing a lot of you lately.”

Claire hugs her knees as an evening summer breeze rolls past them. Kai is still pleading his case, but it looks like he's getting ready to give up, as he gathers his guitar in his hands. He begins to solemnly sulk his way back to them. “Is that a bad thing?” she asks.

The corner of Gray's mouth lifts. “Not a bad thing at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE TELL ME THAT SOME OF YOU GET THE "do these go up to eleven?" REFERENCE FOR THE AMPS LMAO. That movie is honestly my favourite xD
> 
> Remember in Pitch Perfect, in the songs about sex category, they start singing: "Babyyyyy all through the night I'll make love to youuu, like you want me tooooo." Yeah, take in that Kai was really about to serenade Popuri with that Boyz II Men song ¬_¬ Yikes.
> 
> Can you tell I have a soft spot in my heart for bass players? (I'm looking at you Flea, Mike Dirnt, Pete Wentz, Victor Wooten & Mikey Way) ;) I wanted to have some fun with this chapter! Don't worry, stuff's about to go down in the next one ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> (Ah, by the way everyone, I wanted to take the time to say thank you for all of the reviews and support I've been getting!! It honestly means the world to me :') Idk if it gives a notification when I reply on here, but I just wanted to let you guys know how much I truly appreciate it. Feedback and comments from readers honestly make me so happy, so thank you again!! ❤)


	26. The Sting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day at the beach turns into complete chaos.

“I’m _so_ sore.”

“I mean, what’d you expect? You keep tensing up.”

“… I’m gonna to feel this tomorrow, aren’t I?”

“Mhm.”

“Ugh, I'm too tight.”

“You are. Try to relax.”

Claire positions her arms into a cartoonish fighting stance, rapidly knocking the air out in front of her. Their training session is almost over, but she painfully winces as she shakes out her inflamed wrists, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed with Maggie.

Gray impatiently rubs his forehead, throwing her a very unimpressed look. “Again, Blondie,” he demands. “Get into your proper Southpaw position.”

Maybe if she whines, she can get herself out of this early. “But, Gray-”

He swiftly pins one of her wrists under the grasp of his hand, much to her surprise. “Look, you weren’t quick enough,” Gray points out, grip tightening against her tender skin. He’s jolted and awake, surely from the routine coffee he brewed for himself as soon as he got out of bed. Claire isn't a fan of caffeine, so naturally, she considers this cheating.

 _6:00 in the morning is way too early for this kind of crap._ Claire hastily rotates her hips back and reaches with her other hand to rip him off of her. It’s another one of those moments where she'd really like to clock him in the jaw again, this time, not as an accident.

“You need to be quicker,” he says.

She ignores him, humming and snapping her fingers as she dances over a delicate bed of grass. “I would be, if you just _let me bring my boom box outside,_ ” she sings. Bending down to lift Maggie into her arms, she moves to the rhythm of the internal beat that she’s following. Maggie looks as unimpressed as Gray.

"Boom box?" he scoffs. “You mean the shitty, off-brand Sony CD player that you _one hundred percent_ thrifted?"

Claire stops her dancing and singing for a moment, squinting at him. She uses Maggie’s paw to mock punch him in the face, but much to her dismay, her dog whimpers until she gets begrudgingly handed off to Gray. “Listen, I’m a thrifty person.”

“Ah-huh,” he says, scratching Maggie behind her ears. Every time he’s got her pooch in his arms, Gray’s rough exterior crumbles in a matter of seconds. “Well, I’m not working out or training you with your garbage 80’s CD’s playing in the background.”

“The Madonna _Immaculate Collection_ greatest hits CD came out in 1990, so-”

“Smart ass.”

“But, I found it at _Goodwill_ when I was in middle school, and I brought it home to the convent, and one of the nuns was all like: ‘I don’t approve of this, but as long as you don’t watch her music videos or listen to track number four, then I guess it's fine.'”

Gray frowns, placing Maggie down to tighten his sneakers. This can only mean that they’re going on a run to finish off the training session strong. Claire inwardly groans. This really is her least, least favourite part. She always gets winded and exhausted after about three minutes of running. _I wouldn't stand a chance if I was an extra in Scream._

“What’s track number four?” he asks.

 _“Like a virgiiin, touched for the very first tiiime_.” Claire pokes his chest and laughs as he rolls his eyes. Gray grabs Maggie’s discarded leash from the ground, picking it up and clipping it on her collar.

“Jesus Christ, get with the times. It’s 2004,” he says with a scowl.

He and Maggie start off running toward the entrance of her property, his shoes hitting the pathway with dirt and grass kicking out from underneath his heels. Claire resentfully follows behind, pacing herself along the stoned sidewalks of town. She much prefers when they run along her farm, or the Goddess Pond, because no one has to see her all disgusting and sweaty. _At least it’s so early in the morning that everyone's still sleeping,_ she internally reasons. Even Maggie is farther ahead than her, though. Gray slows down a bit to toss the leash to Claire, as if keeping up with her puppy will act as some kind of motivator.

Claire catches it, spinning on her heel and humming with her hands clasped together. “ _When you call my name, it’s like a little prayer, I’m down on my knees…. I wanna take you there.”_

“What… is with you and songs about prayers?” Gray asks, only slightly out of breath.

Claire is panting at this point, though, cursing her swollen calves and pained lungs. “Umm… that’s definitely… not about prayers.” She can’t help but laugh, slowing down to a pathetic jog. “Track number twelve… though. Such a… such a classic.”

“Focus.”

She huffs, whipping her head forward when she sees that Maggie is once again way ahead of her. “I’m so slow!”

Gray stops for a second to reach his hand out and tap her temple. “You said it, not me.”

She scrunches her nose at Gray, sticking her leg out to try and trip him. He coordinately hops over it, fastening his pace. “I… hate you," she groans.

“Your speed sucks because you’re spending your laps dancing and singing. Not my fault.”

They’re running past the clinic now, where Elli slowly makes her way toward. “Hey, El!” Claire calls with a smile. She’s wearing a light pink nursemaid outfit, her brown, layered pixie cut tousled over her head. She looks sleepy, but given how early it is and how hard she must be working, it makes sense. Elli just slowly clamors into the clinic, acknowledging the two of them with a weak nod.

Gray stares at Claire in annoyance as she (once again) tries to catch up with him. “Would you focus?”

“I was just saying hi to Elli.”

“She clearly didn’t want to talk right now. Your boyfriend must be working her to the goddamn bone.”

Why he dislikes Trent so much, Claire will never understand. She doesn’t want to hear him bitch about her boyfriend, either. _What_ _a jackass._ She sticks her leg out a second time, effectively causing Gray to stumble. His glare bores into her as she runs away. “Whoops.”

“You’re dead.”

She snickers, running her way past the inn with Maggie as he chases after her. She finally gets to the Goddess Pond, panting heavily as if the wind has been knocked out of her. She stands by the water, trying to calm down as she gazes at her red-faced reflection. Gray leers behind her. 

“Wait!” she begs, holding her arms out. “Do _not_ push me in."

“I’m gonna do it.”

“Don’t you dare.” Claire screams as he gets closer, flailing her arms in front of her. “Gray, get LOST!"

He shakes his head, laying back on the green meadow beneath them. He tiredly drags his arms behind his head, looking up at the sunrisen sky above them. His chest is rising and falling with the methodic rhythm of his breathing. Maggie pants, worn out from the run as she climbs on top of him, licking his face. “Watch, when you’re not looking, I swear to God I’ll throw you in.”

Claire grins, seating herself beside him. “Do it, and you will officially be uninvited to my birthday.”

He considers this, weighing out the stipulations on his fingers. “That would mean not having to get you a gift, or having to endure your shitty music taste, or having to even see you.” He smirks, bringing his hat over his eyes and beckoning her closer with a quick motion of his hand. “C’mere, Blondie. Why don’t you just make it easier on me.”

She sticks her tongue out at him, even though he likely can't see her, pulling her tight ponytail out of its constraint. She wraps the pink hair elastic around her finger, firing this makeshift rubber band hand gun at Gray. It backfires and slaps her cheek. “Oww.”

He chuckles, raising his cap a bit. “You’re the reason they put directions on the fucking shampoo bottle.”

“You just crossed the Borderline.”

He groans at her continuous Madonna references. Claire catches her hair tie that he's flung back at her, standing up to brush the grass off of her bare legs. “Okay, I'd better feed Maggie and get to work.”

“What time is the beach today?” asks Gray, rising next to her.

“Three o’clock. And I _am_ bringing my boom box, so don’t-”

She shrieks as Gray grabs her waist from behind. Claire digs her elbow into the side of his stomach, hopefully hitting his stupid solar plexus thing, as his hands release her instantly.

“HA!” She smiles triumphantly, wishing that she was the kind of person who creatively finds ways to give others the middle finger like Ann does. “Why don’t you take a long walk... off a short pier, Gray, because I just owned your ass!!” _SUCK IT SUCK IT SUCK IT!_

Gray smiles, rubbing his side. “You're so lame,” he says. "But that was actually pretty good."

She shuts her eyes and snap dances away arrogantly, before his strong hands push against her back, causing her to topple forward into the pond. Claire comes up and sputters out coughs of water as Maggie happily jumps in next to her, doggie-paddling around the pond. Her mouth is agape as she pushes the wet bangs out of her eyes. "Gray, you are the WORST!”

He holds his side by the edge of the pond while laughing, as if this action kind of hurts. She reaches her arms out to grab his ankle with all of her might, successfully causing him to lose his balance. Gray flails, falling in.

“The fuck?” he mutters once he comes up for air. “I really dunno... _why_ I keep choosing to be around you.”

She grins, splashing him. “Love you too, Gray."

* * *

“Do you think I’ll actually get a tan today?” Popuri asks, pulling her sunglasses on top of her head and donning her new bikini. Ann frowns at her, smearing white sunscreen over her thighs.

“Mm, don’t think so.” She turns to Claire. “ _Your_ tan lines are gonna be so weird!”

Even though Claire’s one piece has a modest back, a few of her scars still manage to peek out from beneath the scarlet fabric. The neckline of the swimsuit is square, but low enough to show some of her cleavage, with a cheeky cut-out that rides up her hips. Given the fact that she already has a farmer’s tan (quite literally), and existing marks from the boomerang-style bikini that Karen previously gifted her, an incredibly pale midsection doesn’t faze her. Claire’s knees dig into the hot sand as she sits back on them, knowingly patting her stomach. “Ah, but no one will know just how many carbs I consumed previous to this. Plus, I can totally front crawl in the water without feeling like I’m gonna flash someone.”

Karen grins, seating herself on her rainbow towel and toasting her wine cooler in the air. “I’ll drink to that.” She watches Claire adjusting the knobs on her portable "radio CD player wannabe boom box" thing, gesturing toward the numerous albums in her rucksack. “What’d you bring?”

“80’s classics,” Claire replies with a wink as the music starts to play.

Ann groans. “Who are you, my dad? Try to fit in with this century, please.”

The sound of flip-flops stepping across the yellow sand is heard. Gray and Kai walk over, nodding at the girls. Gray is wearing blue swim trunks, the lines of his muscular six-pack prominent against his slightly tanned skin, while Kai just has on a loose pair of track shorts with a white t-shirt.

“What’s up?” Gray asks. He glares at Claire’s radio. “What the _hell_ is this?”

“Duran Duran,” Karen answers with a scoff. “I thought you liked rock music.”

“This is _not_ rock.”

Kai is staring at Popuri, who refuses to give him the time of day. She rises to pick up her beach ball that’s been taken away by the breeze, her back toward him. His gaze stays glued to her figure, though, as if he’s in a trance. “W-wow, Pope. You look so-”

“She looks hot,” says Karen, poking Popuri, who has now seated herself back beside her. “Tsss.”

“I was gonna say beautiful.” His voice is so soft and faint. Claire wonders if Popuri has even heard him over the sound of seagulls swarming the air and waves crashing along the beach. She just shifts her eyes to the water in front of her.

“Don’t you have a restaurant to tend to?” Popuri mutters, watching as the tide rolls its way slowly to shore. Kai kneels down beside her, causing Claire to take a step back in an attempt to give them some space.

“This is the part when he tells her about the egg-related changes he made to the Snack-Shack menu,” Gray whispers to her.

“I added omelettes to the menu. And if you want one, maybe-”

“I don’t,” snaps Popuri, still not meeting his gaze. Claire can’t help but feel horrible. This whole situation they're in royally sucks. "I don't want _anything_ from _you."_

Kai adjusts his purple bandana fretfully. “Pope, listen. _”_

“No.”

His voice drops an octave, even though everyone can still very much hear him. “Did you get your period yet?”

Ann snorts. "Smooth, Kai."

Popuri's head finally snaps toward him, eyes blazing. She looks like one of those cartoon characters with steam coming out of her ears. “Oh, that’s all that matters to you, huh?”

Kai lets out an exasperated breath. “I’ve been doing everything to get you back; you think that’s the only thing that matters to me? _You_ matter to me.”

As if she doesn’t want to give him another second of her attention, Popuri adjusts her glare toward the ocean once again, her rose hair blowing in the wind. “I’m four days late.” And with that, she grabs Ann, storming off into the sea. Kai sighs, hanging his head low.

“She’ll come around,” offers Claire. 

“Doubt it,” mumbles Gray. Karen tosses the discarded beach ball at his head.

“Look, Kai,” she says reasonably. “Trust me, I’m an expert in relationships. Stay positive; it’s all gonna work out.”

And like a damn cue, “The Total Eclipse of the Heart” slowly starts to blast its way out of the CD player. Kai gets that look in his eyes, the one that he’s painfully worn when it gets late at Claire’s house, his lower lip slowly trembling.

“Uhh, we’ll be back,” Gray says, all panicked. He leads Kai quickly into the Snack-Shack behind them.

“You know, when you’re not going through a break-up, this song slaps,” says Karen, getting on her knees to air guitar. Claire just sighs, pushing the “skip” button.

* * *

Even though he’s really, really trying hard not to, Gray finds himself staring at Claire through the glass of Kai’s restaurant. It took all of his might to play it nonchalant and cool when he was standing next to her, so he wasn’t ogling like last time, but being far away now, his eyes feel glued to that damn lifeguard-esque one piece. To the symmetrical curve of her hips, the creaminess of her thighs, the way that her breasts perfectly fill the neckline of her swimsuit. And even though she was in a skimpy bikini last time, one that left hardly any room for the imagination, he’s having a difficult time deciding which one he likes more. But it's not like his opinion matters in that regard anyway.

“Kai, last time you made me a burger, it was super salty!” Stu complains, swinging his legs on one of the stooled chairs. _I was right; he fucking cries into the grill._

“I bet it’s ‘cause he’s an alien who replaced the salt shakers with salt shakers that make things double saltier,” May whispers back to him.

Gray nods. “You hit the nail on the head. That’s exactly what’s going on.” _And Claire wonders why I can't deal with children; they're dumb as hell._

Kai just stares at the grill in front of him despondently. May pouts, grabbing Stu’s stained shirtsleeve. “This is dumb! Gray, whenever you’re with Claire, she makes you smile, but when you’re around other people like Kai, _you_ make them un-smile!”

 _Jesus, even the kids have got me solved._ “Un-smile?” he asks. "It’s called a frown.” But the children have already tagged each other out of the Snack-Shack, the sound of their laughter emerging from outside. Kai still says nothing as the grill sizzles and pops in front of him. He’s sprayed PAM on it, but makes no motion to place anything on top.

“I think I can man the barbecue,” suggests Gray. “Claire gets mad when I burn stuff, but on burgers and shit there’s like, purposeful burn lines… right?”

Kai remains silent for some time. He looks at the blank grill in front of him mutely, a spatula clutched in his hand. Gray isn’t sure if his tear ducts have dried up, or he’s finally trying to move on from Popuri.

“You really love her.” His voice is flat and low, coming out as a surprise to Gray. “Don’t you?”

He blinks. “What?”

“I dunno why I’m even asking. I know you do.”

This statement irritates Gray more than a lack of coffee in the morning, kids, and Trent combined. He scowls. “Don’t get all sappy with me. Why don’t you focus on _yourself_ so you can get over your breakup?”

“But I don’t want to get over this!” Kai exclaims, putting the spatula down. His thick eyebrows are raised over his forehead, a desperate look crossing his face. “I told you that I love her... and I know I've said dumb shit in the past, but I can't just fuck my way out of this. I still care about her, and deep down, I know a part of her cares about me. I friggin' know it, man.”

“So, you don't wanna try and move on from this? Isn't that the healthy thing to do?” But the words are hypocritical and ironic as soon as they fall out of Gray's lips.

“Jesus, are you serious?” Kai stares at him in disbelief. “Look who's talking! You’re hung up over a girl who you haven’t even dated, who’s taken, and who you refuse to be honest with! Whose mindset is unhealthy here?”

Now, Gray’s pissed. Not because Kai is talking out of his ass.

But because he’s seriously got a point.

It isn’t like Gray is incapable of getting another girl; he’s _had_ other girls. With his sharp features, good-looking physique, and piercing blue eyes that contrast against his rust-coloured hair, quite a few people would consider him a catch. Emotionally… well, he can work on his miserable demeanor and shitty temper, but he generally considers himself to be a nice, solid guy.

One that's hung up over someone he won't ever have.

_Why can't I just fucking forget about her?_

Kai is right. It's because Gray... loves Claire. Because he doesn’t want to stay away, because every minute with her makes his pain seem obsolete.

“Fuck off,” he snaps. “That’s different and you know it.”

“It’s not, though. You’re telling me to try and give up on Popuri, but I can’t. I know there’s still something there. You can’t give up on Claire because there’s something there, too. When you love someone, like, really love them, you can’t just fucking keep away. It’s like I’m incapable. Because even though shit sucks, being around that one person makes it suck a helluva lot less.” Kai frowns. “Aren’t we all just tryna get a permanent kind of happiness?”

“That’s some philosophical bullshit,” mutters Gray.

Even though it's every word of the goddamn truth.

* * *

Claire grins at him as he walks by her in a daze. She's adjusting the volume on her radio again, tossing her sunstreaked hair over her shoulder to reveal a constellation of freckles embedded into her skin. “Don't worry. This is a much happier song," she assures him.

Is Kai some sort of Socratic genius? Does Gray _need_ Claire in his life? Without her, he'd just be training alone, going to work, playing video games, drinking his life away, but she makes him... happy. Her presence makes him want to be a better person. And this is just her as his _friend._

He wonders how much happier he'd be if he was actually... _with_ her. Would being with him make _her_ happy?

_She seems pretty content with that asshole._

Gray's tried everything. He’s tried telling her, tried staying away from her, tried protecting her. She’s in his life because she manages to bring a smile to his face, as plain as little May said it. It doesn’t have to go deeper than that, but it does. His heart is intertwined with her, mind constantly fixated on how much she matters to him.

What the hell is he supposed to do? Tell her the reasoning behind why he hates Trent? Like some petty little bitch? Claire won't even listen when he's tried to explain that the jerk only sees her as a new notch on his bedpost.

Karen gets up to throw her arm around Claire, singing along to Whitney Houston as Popuri and Ann return from the shallow water. Claire grabs Gray’s hand and leads him through the sand, laughing and hopping around as she dances, an infectious ball of literal happiness.

Is Kai right? Is Gray doing the same amount of damage (minus the external crying), by longing after Claire from a distance? Ann warned him about this; if he’s never going to be with Claire, he should work on getting over her.

 _“Whooaaa, I wanna dance with somebodyyy,"_ she sings, bopping her head with that God-awful rhythm of hers. _Or lack thereof._

But there's always a hope in the back of his mind that she'll see Trent for the shithead that he really is. Plus, Gray loves to be around her, even though he'd never admit that to her. She's a genuine good soul, with an optimistic and fun personality; she contrasts all of the misery and anger that he harbours internally. Claire's friendship is important to him, and despite their consistent bickering, he'd like to think that they have a good thing going on. It's just that dating her would obviously be even better. _Not just for hooking up, and definitely not for sex, duh._ But for the sole purpose of being in an actual, serious relationship with a girl that he's got nothing but love for.

He just always finds his way back to her.

“C’mon!” Claire shouts, dragging Gray and Karen to the ocean. “Let's go!”

He smiles at her. He really doesn't know what he'd do without her.

Karen releases herself from Claire's grasp, waving her hand flippantly. “You guys go on. We'll all catch up later.”

“You shouldn’t go too far,” Popuri warns, wringing out her wet hair. “There’s some nasty sea creatures the deeper you go.”

“Don’t you worry." Claire brushes her shoulders off. "I’m a pro swimmer.”

Gray chuckles. “You wish."

And she runs off into the sea, Gray following after her like he's done the whole time.

“Those two need to hook up,” sighs Karen. “She needs to kick Trent to the curb, and she needs some Gray in her life.”

“Word,” agrees Ann.

* * *

The next part feels like it’s happening too rapidly to process. Like someone has pressed the fast-forward button on life. Gray's got Claire clutched in his arms, the sound of her crying ringing in his ears. Her face is knotted in pain as he frantically carries her out of the ocean. The run toward the shoreline, Popuri gasping, the stupid 80’s songs all feel like a blur in his mind. It’s a rush of adrenaline; a smattering figment of fear and trauma all rolled into one. The searing sun, the hot sand under his feet, the run to the clinic are like an out-of-body experience.

“Gray, it hurts,” Claire whimpers. She's got her arms wrapped around his neck as he clasps her shoulder and the backs of her knees in his arms. He's careful not to disrupt the black splinters sticking out of her flushed red thigh.

“It’s okay, Blondie,” Gray tries to tell her. Claire grits her teeth to bite back a sob, burying her face in his chest. He isn't sure if she does this to avoid the brightness of the sun, or so that he can't see the discomfort on her face. "We're almost there."

Elli gasps when they stumble into the building. “Oh my God! What happened?”

Claire doesn't say anything. She's gone limp in Gray's arms, her eyes still shut. The small, dark puncture wounds have swelled into her skin, cracking and bleeding along the thorns.

"She was swimming against the bottom of the ocean, and a sea urchin stung her." Gray shakes her a bit, but her eyes don't open. "Blondie?" He shakes her more worriedly now. "Jesus Christ, Claire. Wake up!"

Elli rushes toward them, knitting her brow in discontentment when she stares at Claire's injured thigh. He widens his eyes. "Shit, she's out cold," she says. "This heatwave definitely isn't helping."

Trent exits his office at the sound of the commotion, freezing when he sees his girlfriend in Gray’s strong arms. The two of them have leaked seawater into the office, a wet trail mixed with tiny drops of blood slipping along the clinic’s tiled floor. 

“What the hell? Claire?!” Trent runs toward them, quickly taking his girlfriend into his own arms. He barely acknowledges Gray's presence as he carries her like a rag doll in his office, slamming the door.

The clinic feels eerily quiet now; Gray's heart is pounding in his ears. He barely registers Elli grabbing his wrist, turning it over to glance at his hand.

“You got stung, too,” she says.

He stares down at his palm, ten little splinters staring back at him. They're from when he pulled that spiky black mass off of Claire's leg in the water. Gray didn't even think twice about doing it; he hardly felt it.

“Guess I did,” he mumbles.

* * *

Claire comes to, the feeling of her wet hair cold against her bare back. She's laid out against a chilly examination table. Trent is seated on a stool beside her, grabbing her hand. "Hi," he says.

She throws her arms around him, nuzzling the crook of his shoulder. She hasn't seen him since the wedding. "Trent!" she exclaims, breathing in a smell of medical supplies and... _vinegar?_

He holds her tightly back, looking deeply into her eyes before kissing her. "I managed to pull all of the spikes out. It took a few pairs of tweezers, and about a bottle of vinegar, but I got every single one. Interestingly enough, they're actually a part of the sea urchin's spine."

She kisses him back, a singular tear rolling down her cheek. _Quit crying, it doesn't even hurt that bad anymore!_ Claire feels all loopy, likely from some kind of pain medication that her boyfriend's given her. She pulls away from him to stare at her right thigh, blanketed in a thick layer of gauze. 

"Oh, Trent, I don't know how to thank you enough!" She sits up, careful not to bend her non-dominant leg. He takes her limb in his hands, extending it so that it's kept straight and elevated. Trent has positioned himself between her knees, her legs slightly opened in a suggestive manner, like the two of them are about to-

A pink blush creeps its way across her cheeks. _Stop it! What the heck's the matter with you?!_

“Is there any reason why I had to find you unconscious in Gray's arms, Claire?”

There isn't any right way to answer Trent's question, because she clearly must have heard him wrong. "Pardon me?" she squeaks out, her stomach sinking.

He glares. "Did he take advantage of you?"

Her eyes instantly well up. What the actual heck... how could her boyfriend ever think that of her best friend; of the person who keeps saving her accident-prone ass? Fresh tears begin to roll down her face. Trent stands, taking the clipboard from his lap to grip it tightly. He swears under his breath. "I knew it. He deflowered you, and you just let it happen."

This only makes Claire cry harder. _How can he be so clueless?_ She buries her head in her hands. Trent's been so busy with his work that she hasn't had the opportunity to explain what the hell happened to her after the wedding. “You don’t even understand the half of what I’ve been through. Gray's the one who saved me,” she sobs out.

Claire doesn’t take her face out from between her cupped hands, but she can hear the sound of Trent scoffing. “Relax, Claire. It’s a sea urchin sting. At the most, it would have-”

She furiously drags her thumbs across her eyelids, swallowing as she raises her gaze to meet his sharply. “I was _not_ talking about that.”

* * *

"Last one!" Elli promises, holding Gray’s outstretched palm. She clutches a pair of tweezers in her other hand, hovering over the final black thorn under his index finger. Her blue nursemaid outfit contrasts the red blood on her gloves. “This one's stuck in your heart line.”

Gray's eyes are fixated on Trent's closed office door. He barely hears the forced positivity in Elli's words. “My what?”

She huffs. “Don’t tell me you know nothing about palmistry.”

“Guess I’m guilty.” Droplets of water are still leaking down threads of his wet hair, dripping onto the seat of his chair and falling to the floor. Gray's shivering cold, and he doesn’t know the location of his hat, much less the status of Claire. He frowns. “Weren’t you wearing a different outfit this morning?”

Her face flushes. “I changed so that you would notice, obviously." She's clearly lying, but she just cocks her brow at Gray. "By the way, I was meaning to speak to you about updating your medical file, but you stormed out of here during your previous visit."

“Mm, last I remember, you were the pissed off one.”

Elli yanks out the last stinger hard. “Fuck!” Gray snaps. That one actually hurt.

“Oopsie.” She sighs, looking more worn out than ever as she reaches for the bin of Q-Tips beside her. Elli takes some Polysporin out of her pouch, dotting it over Gray's wounds. “Anyway, your file states that your EpiPen is long expired.”

 _That damn thing._ “Not my EpiPen,” he deadpans.

“Your peanut allergy is listed as anaphylactic,” she warns. “Although it’s _your_ job to keep on top of your _own health_ , it’s _our_ job to care when you refuse to do so.”

“You sound like your fuckin' boss,” says Gray, gesturing toward Trent's examination room. He hopes that Claire is alright. "OW!"

Elli rubs the Q-Tip over his palm furiously, glaring up at Gray. “I’m not like him at all,” she mutters.

A loud bang erupts in the other room.

* * *

Trent can't be hearing her correctly. His Claire is stupid, but not... not _this_ stupid. He’s slammed his clipboard against the wall, much to her shock, breathing heavily in a poor attempt to get his anger in check. He keeps himself busy for two weeks without seeing her, and this is what she does in her spare time?

“Did that guy in the valley rape you?” Trent snaps. Claire stares at him wide eyed, tears freely flowing down her cheeks. She cried when she woke up, she cried when she was defending the freaking blacksmith outside, she cried as she told him her "traumatic" story. _Give me a damn break._ “Did he?!”

She shakes her head furiously. “No. No he didn’t, I promise. He just grabbed me, Trent. I’m sorr-”

“How could you let that happen?” he asks, trying to keep his voice low. Gray is surely trying to listen in on their every word, and Elli's probably doing nothing to stop him. She doesn’t really try and stop _anything_.

“How can you just blame me like that?!”

Claire's yelling back at him? _Is this for real?_ He narrows his eyes at her. "How can you not _see_ that you could have _easily_ prevented this?"

She backs down immediately, choking out a sob _once again_. “I’m sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn’t realize that he was still behind me, and-"

“What were you wearing?”

“What?”

“I said, what were you wearing?”

“My… my dress that I wore to the wedding. I didn’t change; Zack took us straight there.”

He whistles. “Wow, lucky you. Surrounded by a load of men that night."

This makes her cry even harder. “You can be upset, but it wasn't my fault, Trent.”

"Why the fuck did you even go?!”

He hasn’t sworn at her yet, or even let her hear him raise his voice like this. Trent exhales deeply once again, trying to remember the mantra of his Tai Chi meditations. _Calm yourself. Relax. Don't scare her off._

Claire swallows. He gently tries to offer her a tissue from the desk, even though his hands are shaking with fury. “Kai and Popuri were wasted," she explains, dabbing at her eyes. She's leaked wet remnants of the ocean all over his office, much to his dismay. _Elli's going to have a lot of cleaning to do._ "So, Gray was going to go to Forget-Me-Not Valley on his own, because you didn't have anymore... _Plan B,_ which is totally fine!" She holds her arms out fearfully, like she's afraid of him. _Great_ _, now I've done it._ Trent's got to find a way to showcase that this was just an unorthodox outburst on his part. "But he was still kind of drunk, and I didn’t want him to go alone, or get hurt, and-”

"My love," says Trent softly. He takes her hand, pressing her knuckles against his thin lips. “You're so compassionate." He kisses each knuckle, causing Claire to blush profusely. "But you cannot just risk your own safety like that. What if something were to happen to you? Don't you know how devastated I'd be?" His Southern drawl comes across as soothing, like a sheet of silk draped across a pillowcase.

She looks down at her lap, using the back of her free hand to swipe at her eyes. “It-it was stupid, I know.”

“Yeah, you did something very stupid." Trent clucks his tongue, pulling Claire onto his lap. He is careful not to disrupt the perfect bandaging job that he's done on her thigh, though. "I really need you to make better choices, next time. You walk around at night in a dress like that... I'm sorry, but you’re asking for it.”

Claire buries her face in his neck, her words muffled. “I wasn’t asking for anything, honest. I-I don’t want that at all.”

_Yeah, I've heard that from you already._

“Fine, but what kind of a message are you sending out?" Trent shakes his head. It might be an old-fashioned way of thinking, but it's the one that he was raised with. "Even the way you're dressed now; it tells other men that getting between your legs is easy.”

Claire crosses her arms over her large bust. Even with her face all puffy like this, his girlfriend is perfect. Sure, her nose is a little pointy, and the scars along her back have got to go, and he'd prefer a smoother complexion over the freckles that she's got, but other than that, she's flawless.

"I'm sorry, but I disagree," she says quietly. "I don't dress inappropriately at all. This is a _swimsuit._ And even if I did, it doesn't give anyone the right to-"

"You've misinterpreted what I said," he chides. She's so young, so naïve, so innocent; Trent's given himself the challenge to convince her of virtually anything. He pulls the back of her skull closer to him, kissing her deeply. “I just wouldn't be able to go on without you, my love.”

Claire kisses him back slowly, before pulling away, much to his internal annoyance. "Please, don't let me see you lose your temper like that again."

"I'm sorry. I do Tai Chi to keep it in check, but-"

"Please," she interrupts. "You scared me. I thought you were gonna to break up with me over something I couldn't control."

Trent just kisses her again, much deeper than last time, grinning broadly in his mind. Claire's wrapped around his goddamn finger. He should be more upset; with her all apprehensive this close to her birthday, because of some horny shit from the valley, Trent's going to have to wait even longer to get what he wants.

But it's alright. He’s got something else to satisfy his needs in the meantime.

* * *

“All set.”

“You rock, El.”

Elli shrugs, offering a small smile. “See,” she says. “You’re so cute when you're nice, Gray. And if you were like this more often, girls would appreciate you so much more.”

He rolls his eyes. “That’s what I want; the entire approval of the opposite gender.”

“You’re such a man.”

“You got that right.”

She groans, grabbing three small black pouches from inside the cupboard. “Here. These are so that you don’t die when you make out with a girl who just ate a _Reese’s._ ” She taps her foot impatiently. "I'd tell you to always carry at least one on you, but I doubt you'll do that."

"Right again."

"Keep one EpiPen in an accessible location, one at home, and one..." Elli pauses, thinking. "One at Claire's house. Since you're always there."

_How the hell does she know-_

Claire suddenly exits out of the examination room with Trent by her side, limping slightly. She's wearing the same attire that she came in with, only her thigh is all patched up with thick bandages now.

“Are you okay?” Gray asks her, forgetting about his EpiPens that Elli has tried so hard to make him care about. He attempts to reach out and help her, but Trent hands her off instead.

“I’d like to see you, Grayson,” says Trent. “Elli, double-check Claire’s blood pressure, and be sure to fill out a medical report. I’m going to examine his sting."

“Wh-what for?” Elli looks rather panicked. Gray doesn’t understand any of which is going on. She pulled out urchin stings from his skin without any issues, but it worries her to double-check some vitals?

"I'm alright, Trent," Claire says with a laugh.

He narrows his eyes at the doctor. “Elli did a great job with my hand. I’m fine.”

She looks over him gratefully.

“Nonsense. She’s just a nurse,” says Trent, his voice hollow. “A medical professional needs to make sure that everything has been done correctly.”

“Like I said, Elli did it just f-”

“My office, please. Now." Trent gives an empty smile as he motions for Elli to guide Claire into the waiting room. She frowns before getting whisked away.

* * *

The doctor shuts his door carefully, demeanor quickly shifting from a cold professional to an angry psychopath. _A_ _regular Jekyll and Hyde._ “What the FUCK were you thinking?!"

Gray blinks. No way this motherfucker is speaking to him like that. _No fucking way._ Where the hell does he get off? “What?”

“Answer the goddamn question.”

The asshole inside of Gray is unleashed, like a genie getting rubbed out of their lamp. “I mean, originally, I was thinking of applying to UIC, then my mom got sick- you're well aware of that. I _really_ stopped giving a shit, she died, I acted out way more than usual, now here we are.” He shrugs. “Blacksmith in training.”

“You cocky little punk.” Trent steps closer to him, and Gray merely chuckles, like this is the funniest crap he's ever seen.

“I _really_ don’t give a fuck. I’ll kick the shit outta you if I have to.”

“Oh really? You’ll upset Claire by beating up the town's medical doctor?”

 _What kind of question is that?_ Like this would be completely unbelievable for Gray. “Um… yeah.”

Trent swears under his breath, adjusting his head mirror and stethoscope wildly. “I told you to stay away from her. You choose not to listen, and then all hell breaks loose.”

“What the fuck? We were at the beach, this could have happened _regardless._ ”

“Oh, and what’s your excuse for taking her to the valley well past midnight, hm?”

His face feels hot. He doesn’t even have an explanation for that, because he's well aware that it was wrong. He _knows_ something could have happened to Claire on his watch; he doesn’t need to be reminded of the guilt that he's already put himself through. “She’s headstrong; she _insisted_ on coming.”

“And you let her? She could have been _impurified.”_

_Not "she could have been raped," or "she could have been killed." "She could have been impurified." What an absolute cock._

“You sick shit," spits out Gray. "You don’t care about her safety at all; you only care about being the first one to get your dick wet in her.”

“And you think that isn’t going to happen?" Trent barks out a laugh, and if Gray's dominant hand wasn't injured, he'd sucker punch him right then and there. "You know that it's her birthday next week.”

“You sick shit,” Gray repeats in disbelief.

“And I have arranged plans-”

“Fuck off.”

“-That you are not to disrupt or meddle with. We're going away.” Trent stares at him, hot rage flickering beneath his dark eyes. “What’d you think? You think because you kissed her during some stupid game that she would just give it up to _you?”_

Gray really can’t even believe what he’s hearing. _Is this asshole honestly for real?_ “You think I care about that? You think I’m fucked like you, like that shit gets me off?”

“She doesn’t want you. She never will. This is your reality check. You’re going to ruin her if you don’t just stay the fuck away like I've told you to do.”

“'Ruin her.’ You’re such a manipulative piece of shit. And I don’t take direct orders from _you_.”

“If you knew what was good for you, you would.” And Trent opens the door, walking out with a smile. Claire sits on one of the clinic chairs with her legs crossed, smiling at the two of them.

"Elli had to run," she explains, fidgeting in her seat. "But she told me to remind you to grab your EpiPens, Gray." She scoffs at him. "How could you just _not_ tell me you had a peanut allergy during our millions of rounds of twenty questions?!"

The twitch in Trent's eye is enough to make Gray's anger diminish. He laughs out loud. This is Claire; managing to de-escalate all of the horrifying bullshit he just heard.

"Be sure to soak your wounds in Epsom salt. I'll be seeing you both," the doctor mumbles, messily gathering his papers in his hand before shutting the examination room door.

"Seriously?" She keeps staring at Gray incredulously, hardly acknowledging her boyfriend's exit. She rises from her chair weakly. "How could you just _fail_ to tell me?"

He smirks. “Back to being a pain in my ass, huh?"

Claire tosses her still-damp hair over her shoulder. "You know it." She frowns, extending the pouches toward him. "So, this one, Elli said is to be kept somewhere accessible, and apparently one's for my house... I mean, go figure, and-"

Gray just wraps his arms around her, holding her tight. "Quit fuckin' scaring me like that, alright?" His grip squeezes down on her, like he’s trying to make sure that it’s really Claire in front of him, and not some imposter. He has to keep her safe. If she stays in his arms like this, nothing else can happen to her, right? "What the hell would I do without you?"

“Ummm, are you okay?’ she asks, hugging him back tensely. She pulls away to look at him, her sapphire eyes even wider than before. "Did you get a stinger lodged in your brain or something?"

"Are we all still doing something for your birthday?"

"I mean, you _would_ be invited, if you didn't push me into the pond." Claire grins. "But you just keep saving my ass, so as a thank you, I guess you can come."

What would he do without her indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Did you see what I did there at the beginning ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°_
> 
> Ugh, Trent's part made me so mad. I don't have that kind of mindset AT ALL, so writing a character who thinks like that just... infuriates me, to say the least lol, mostly because there's actually people like that in the world who'd agree with him T-T
> 
> What will happen to Kai? What will happen to Popuri? Will Claire become enlightened after she comes of age? WILL GRAY SOCK TRENT IN THE THROAT? StAy tUnED iN ThIS ThRiLLINg SaGA!11!1!
> 
> K, I'll update v soon. I love you guys :') ❤


	27. The Photographs

She’s limping slightly, but not by much; the pain is sort of non-existent right now. Walking through town barefoot in her fire-engine red bathing suit sticks out like a sore thumb, even more than her loopy hobbling does. Everything is numb; numb like when the dentist pumps novocaine into your blood, streamlining throughout the site of discomfort until it runs against every other pore in your body.

Claire can’t help but think about Trent’s words. It’s not that she agrees with him, but he was… right in certain aspects. She really could have been… well, _anything_ could have happened to her that night. Hearing him say that old timey word: deflowered, made it even more traumatizing, as if she was re-experiencing the fear all over again; reliving her church telling all of the girls to keep their flowers’ intact. What would happen if her promise _did_ get broken? An instant smiting from God Himself? Permanent hatred from her mother up above? Automatic inaccessibility to heaven and purgatorial waiting rooms for decades to come? _No thank you._ She’s done everything right up until this point; she can’t let it get ruined now.

Maybe Trent is right: maybe it really was preventative on her part. She isn’t sure… she’s too tripped out right now to decide.

“Being high is overrated,” she says, her arm slumped around Gray’s shoulder like a makeshift sling to steady her walking. “Is this what it’s supposed to feel like?”

He smirks. “Depends on what kinda drug you’re taking. This is pretty on par for whatever pain meds they gave us.” When she’s all pressed up against him like this, the first thought that comes to her mind is that she’s never seen him so naked… Well, jeez, that sounded a whole lot better in her head. What Claire means is that Gray has never been this vulnerable or exposed in front of her before. She reckons it’s the lack of his signature hat, combined with the no shoes, no shirt thing that he’s got going on, but again, isn’t certain.

“Just how many drugs have you done?” she mumbles.

“FINALLY! My God, are you guys okay?!” Ann frantically rushes over to them in the middle of the paved street with an emotional Kai beside her. Claire’s starting to wonder what would happen if this guy had even a remote dosage of estrogen in his system.

She frowns, holding out her bandaged thigh and gesturing toward Gray’s hand. “Kinda smarts.”

“Hurt like a bitch,” he clarifies.

“We were so worried,” Kai sobs, latching onto Ann’s arm. She shimmies him off in annoyance like he’s some kind of bug, flinging him toward Claire so that he can cry on her free shoulder now.

Ann shakes her head. “Does he do this _every_ night?”

“Every night,” says Gray.

“Every night,” Claire confirms. She manuevers her body so that he isn’t completely cutting off her circulation, but Kai takes this as a sign that no one wants him around, dropping and curling up into a little ball underneath the tree beside them. “Kai, c’mon. It's okay.”

“Look what I got!!” Popuri darts out of her house, clutching something in her hand as she runs toward the Claire and Gray. She throws her arms around them, nearly causing them to topple over. “And you guys are alive!” she screams happily, pulling backward to grin exuberantly.

Kai looks up quickly through his tears. “W-what’d you get? Your period?”

She ignores him, waving a piece of paper in front of Claire’s face giddily. “It’s a letter from my dad! He’s _finally_ coming home!!”

“Jeez, how long’s he been gone?” Gray asks, rubbing his jaw with his injured palm. He forgets that it’s bruised, bandaged, and bound with aches though, because he winces immediately.

“For a good chunk of my life. But he’ll be back for the fireworks festival!” Her eyes glisten with moisture as she joyfully embraces the paper against her heart.

“Aw, that’s awesome,” says Ann. “Your mom’s gonna be so happy. And so’s my dad and Zack!”

Claire unwinds herself off of Gray’s shoulder blade, reaching her wobbly arms out to hug Popuri. “This is such great news,” she says, squeezing her tightly. There’s a pang of something inside of her… not of jealousy, but a yearning. It’s physically impossible for her to have a reunion like this one day. Not that she wants to know her father, given that whoever he is, he’s a trash individual, but she wishes that things could have turned out a lot differently. It's bad enough her mother had to be taken away from her, but to not even have someone that she can call a father causes her heart to ache with emptiness. “I’m so happy for you and your family.”

“Someone’ll be coming to knock the shit outta you, Kai,” Gray says in a musing voice, helping Claire to seat herself down. Even though it’s 6 o’clock in the evening, the lingering humidity in the air is starting to make her feel even more lethargic. He drops his bag of EpiPens to the floor, easing her under the tree without perturbing her thigh.

Ann plops herself beside them. “Man, can I pay to see that?” She peers into the bag. “What’s this?”

“The good shit,” Gray answers, like epinephrine suddenly qualifies for that.

Kai shakes his head. “Your dad’s not actually gonna beat me… right-?”

Popuri rolls her eyes at him. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Calling my feelings ridiculous makes me even more _hysterical!”_

“Kai, seriously,” Gray mutters, shutting his eyes. “Quit being a jagoff. We all need to go home.”

“I’ll take you home, Claire.”

The voice belongs to her boyfriend. Trent has surprisingly walked up behind the group, kneeling down in front of her with warm, chocolately eyes. “Hi, everyone,” he says with a gestured hand wave. He intertwines his fingers with hers. “Hi, you.”

Claire’s lips curve into a smile. “Hi… what are you doing here?”

“I owe you a nice evening,” he says, and _damn right!_ she thinks. “Let’s go.”

“Oh,” Claire says, looking over at Kai and Gray’s unreadable expressions. This will be the first night in a while that she’s not spending with either of them by her side. Popuri fidgets with her hands while Ann stares at the two of them.

“Go, Claire,” Kai finally says, dragging his fists across his wet eyes. “We’ll all be good.”

Trent lifts her up as she’s still contemplating. “Um, I gotta shower first, but come by my place in ten minutes, okay?” Claire tells him. She lowers her gaze down to Ann glaring at her boyfriend, to Popuri who’s surprisingly got her eyes fixed on Kai, to Gray who won’t even look at her. She nudges him with her ankle, offering a small smile. “Thank you again,” she says. “You really are the best.”

Gray just nods at her, a glimmer of something shining through the iciness of his eyes for a tender moment. It’s a fleeting second that makes Trent sear with jealousy, but honestly _that’s tough for him_. She can’t just have her best friend save her butt yet again, without letting him know how much she appreciates him. “Oh, you guys can all come, too, by the way.”

Popuri shakes her head, as if trying to rid herself of whatever she was conspiring before. “We’ll let you two have some alone time.” She hoists herself up with Ann, taking one of Claire’s arms.

“But we’ll help you now,” Ann adds, flipping her long braid over. She grabs Claire’s other arm, draping it around her shoulder. “Let’s motor.”

“I could just wait in your living room while you shower-” Trent begins, but Ann and Popuri have already darted off with Claire between them, assisting her to her farmhouse in supported leaps across the pavement.

“Yeah, that’s what I usually do,” Gray says, his stoic expression breaking out into an arrogant smirk.

And Trent lunges for him, wringing his hands out while Kai gets in between the two of them like a stature-less human pillar.

* * *

“Trent? Trent? I’ve been calling your name!” Claire frowns over at him. He’s locked his eyes on her chest, but for once, it’s actually unintentional, given that he’s completely lost in a pollution of his own thoughts.

“Oh, my apologies,” he mumbles. He drops his gaze to her bare legs, milky in tone with a very slight golden glow to them. He’s convinced her that she needs to wear the shortest stuff possible on the lower half of her body in order to speed up the healing process of her leg. Right now, she’s clad in some very short shorts that he supplied for her, and a tight purple tank top. However, his previous staring must have made her nervous, because she’s throwing a baggy sweater on, over her outfit at the moment.

Claire gestures toward her mutt, who has lodged itself between the two of them. “I was trying to tell you that Maggie just wants you to pet her, silly!”

 _How irritating._ “I’m a little weary of dogs,” he says, trying his best not to stiffen his tone. The mutt glares up at him, as though it has actually registered his words. “Actually, I cannot believe that you even allow it onto the furniture.”

“Oh, stop. _She's_ my family,” Claire says, lifting the dog to nuzzle her fur. Trent hesitantly reaches his fingers behind its brown ear, but the animal just growls and snarls at him in response.

She apologizes quickly, placing the animal onto her lap. Her dog sniffs at her damaged thigh, pushing its snout over to the opposite one. If those urchin stings embed scars into her skin, Trent’s going to be pissed. Claire’ll probably be self-conscious about it, but he’s going to be _pissed_. The ones that she’s got on her back make her look butchered enough as it is.

“Sorry! I guess she can be super protective of me.”

 _The mutt seems just fine running with that goddamn punk in the mornings._ He tries swatting the dog away, but it’s persistent and won’t budge.

“Aw, Trent. Leave her alone! She just wants to be with me.”

“And what if I want to be with you?” Trent mumbles. He pulls on the sides of Claire's thighs, bringing them over his own lap so that the dog has no choice but to get off. It sulks into the other corner of the couch as his hand trace designs into the curve of her cheek, smiling broadly. “What are we doing for your birthday?”

She giggles. “Why do people keep asking me that? It’s really not a big deal.”

“You’ll be eighteen,” Trent says, threading his fingers through hers and bringing them against his mouth. He plants kisses all around her hand. “It is a big deal. And I have a surprise.”

Claire just sheepishly smiles, fiddling with a lock of her beautiful hair. “Jeez! What’d you have in mind?”

“I was thinking that we could go somewhere, just you and I.”

“Where? Like the inn?”

“I meant as in travel,” he replies tightly.

Claire tilts her head. “Like the Sunny Islands? I heard that they’re beautiful!”

 _No_. He can’t be seen there. No one who knew Trent before can know what he's like now.

“Hm, not what I had in mind either,” he says, brushing his raven mane away from his forehead. He misses his naturally coffee-coloured hair. “Perhaps I could take you to the city.”

“Oh, if I went to the city without Popuri, she’d kill me! She’s always wanted to go.”

His eye is about to start twitching. He tries to lean back on the couch, but he’s never really been one to relax.

 _Well, never say never._ He’d relax more if Claire were under him. “I could take us to your city,” Trent suggests.

Her face wilts. “Uhm, I dunno when, or if, I’ll ever be able to go back there. Mineral Town is-”

“-Your home. I know.” _How many damn times do I have to hear this one?_ “Why don’t we go to see my city?”

“ _Dallas?_ That’d take a boat ride, and then a plane ride on top of that. Imagine what it would cost!”

“Money is no issue, Claire,” he says, patting her hand. Trent’s family has always had wealth. His family’s cash has gotten him out of more trouble than he can count; it’s what made being here even remotely possible. “You know that I will always take care of you.”

Claire shakes her head, pieces of her bangs falling into her eyes. Her hair is so long and soft, like individual ribbons of spun gold. He’s got to make sure that she keeps it like this; he’d hate for it to ever be chopped. “I need to start taking care of myself more,” she says.

_But keep having that fucking blacksmith come to your goddamn aid, that’s fine._

“Then what’s the point of a gift?” Trent chastises, brushing her fringe away.

Claire swallows, fiddling with her hands while cracking her knuckles nervously. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but it would be a total waste to take such a long trip and only spend the day there.”

“… The day?”

“Well, yeah. The day.” She chews on the inside of her cheek; a habit that he’s grown to detest. He doesn’t even know why Claire does it, but it’s unattractive and it happens far too randomly for his liking.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he chides, trying to prevent his tone from getting too sharp.

“I do it when I’m uneasy, or when I’m thinking,” Claire replies complacently. Guess it isn't random, but when did she get so mouthy? He liked it better when she never challenged him at all. This blacksmith’s garbage attitude is affecting her far too much for his liking: another reason to keep him the hell away from her.

Or, has she always been like this, and Trent’s just too blinded by his overwhelming desire to have someone uncontaminated, immaculate, and pure as her?

“I couldn’t just… stay the night – stay multiple nights away,” she continues. “I mean, who’s going to watch Maggie, or feed my animals, or take care of my farm?”

“The waitress, the poultry runners, or even… what’s his name again? Kale?”

“… Do you mean Kai?”

“Sure. Or, there’s always Gray to the rescue-”

“Trent,” she says lightly. “I don’t think that jealousy is cute. At all. You really gotta stop.”

He presses his mouth into a tight line to keep himself from losing his temper. _Play the part of a gentleman… you know how._ He’s done everything right up until this point; he can’t let it get ruined now.

“So you don’t think that I’m cute?” Trent grumbles, trying to modulate how pissed off he is.

“I mean, you’re all right, I guess,” Claire teases. Her expression immediately shifts to a more serious one, though, as she slides off of his lap, repositioning her leg to elevate it. “Look, I know I moved here on my own, and I’m trying my best to mature, but I couldn’t just suddenly… vacation with you. It seems like a big step… one that I’m just not ready to take.”

Trent says nothing, staring at her leg perched on her coffee table, extended out. Even though it’s been almost a week since her incident, the area on her thigh is still swollen and red. The holes where he removed the stingers remain scabbed, bruised, and relatively unhealed. It’s naïve of him to think that they won’t leave a scar, and he’s not allowed to be naïve about anything anymore. “Have you been soaking your leg in Epsom salt?”

“Every night after work like you said.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure!” Claire seems a little offended for some odd reason. “Does it… does it look bad?”

It looks imperfect… and he requires perfect. “Well, if you want my honest opinion, then yes, it does. You don’t want it to scar like this. Try soaking it twice a day now.” His lips press against her ear. “You know, I can always help you with that.”

She doesn’t answer him, though; she just hangs her head low. Trent watches as her fingers begin to toy with a cross-shaped pin on her top.

“Who got that for you?”

Claire looks up at him. “Oh, Gray made it for me.” She manages a smile, even though he suspects that his previous comment upset her. “My second week in town.”

“How…” _Ridiculous._ “Charming.” Trent forces a grin. “You like jewelry, then?”

“I don’t have a lot, but yeah, I guess so.” She shrugs, sounding a bit distant. “I mean, what girl doesn’t? Plus, Gray and Saibara are so talented at making it. Their work always turns out so beautif-”

“Claire?”

“Yes?”

He brings himself closer, gently drawing her on top of his lap once again. “You know that I’m constantly just looking out for you, right?”

Claire unstiffens her appearance, reluctantly nodding and dipping her chin down into his shoulder. “I know that.”

And it’s fine; _he’s_ fine. He knows what to do. He’s always known what to do this whole time. He’ll make her swoon with his gift, he’ll get under her, and he’ll even find a way to rub it all in Gray’s fucking face. Trent’s lips press against Claire’s throat desperately, peppering her with kisses.

“Hey…” she says softly, her neck craning back almost instinctively. She gasps when he finds her sweet spot, but Trent makes sure to keep his hands to himself so that he doesn’t have to fucking hear it from her.

“Hey,” he says, his mouth closing over hers.

* * *

“How’s Kai?” Claire leans against her counter, nestling a towel-wrapped Maggie into the crook of her elbow. Her dog whimpers, burrowing her way out of the swaddle and hopping into Gray’s arms. She’s always _way_ too excited after her baths. “Jeez, Maggie, chill!”

He just seats himself down on her floor, towel-drying the sopping-wet puppy. Her fur has left damp imprints on his beige jumpsuit, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Gray’s grandfather invited her to have dinner with them tonight, so he’ll probably have to change out of his work clothes regardless. “I like it better when he cries on your couch, not mine.”

 _Why is he being so dry?_ Claire wonders if this is a jab at the fact that Trent’s been over her house for the last three nights in a row, meaning that Kai hasn’t been given the direct _opportunity_ to cry on her couch. She sits down next to Gray, careful not to bend her sore thigh too much. “Still that bad, huh?”

He nods. “Oh, and I wanted to let you know that I was right. When he started bawling, my grandfather _instantly_ told him to shut the fuck up.”

“He did not!”

“He did. He said ‘put a goddamn sock in it.’ I told you, and I should have fuckin’ bet you so I coulda won.”

Claire shakes her head. _Is everyone in Gray’s family rough around the edges, with a soft, gooey inside that most people don’t get to see?_ She can only imagine what his father is like. “Where’s Kai tonight?”

“I dunno. He said he had to figure some shit out.”

“Oh!” Claire exclaims brightly. She takes Maggie from his arms, gently ringing the water out of her furry brown ears “Working through his problems is a good sign… right?” Gray doesn’t answer, though. His eyes are fastened on her bare legs. She blushes. “THESE ARE PANTS BY THE WAY.”

“HUH?!” His face reddens. “What…? Uh-”

“They’re not… underwear, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“I _wasn’t_.”

“Like, I’m pretty sure that they still _count_ as pants.”

Gray grabs Maggie back, using the white terrycloth to dry her self-consciously with his non-dominant hand. “They definitely don’t.”

“Okay, well, whatever. They’re just _really_ short shorts. Trent gave them to me to wear so that I could heal my leg faster.”

He pretends to be in agreement. “Sounds logical to me.”

“Oh, stop it, Gray. How’s your hand?” She grasps his wrist, inspecting the damage done to his palm. The flesh is cracked with some still-bleeding scabs from the sharp pricks of the sea urchin stingers, meaning that he clearly hasn’t been doing his Epsom salt rinses like Trent suggested. They’d benefit him greatly, given that Gray’s hands are already super rough with callouses and scratches from his trade.

He leans back. Maggie has escaped from towel-prison, darting around Claire’s farmhouse like a lunatic. “And just imagine how many girls he convinced to wear those before you,” he continues, ignoring her question.

She drops his hand, glaring as she pushes it back to him. “Are you still talking? What’s wrong with you?”

“I heard that you’re going away with him.”

Her stomach does a flip-flop. “Wh-who told you that?”

“Your charming doctor boyfriend said that he made plans.” Gray’s eyes have narrowed to their usual ice-cold colour and demeanor. He’s mad at her right now. Walking into her farmhouse, she sensed some tension, given that they haven’t seen each other since he had saved her ass last week, but it’s not like it’s completely her fault. Her boyfriend’s finally paying attention to her again, constantly wanting to spend time together, and she totally loves it. It’s put her in the best of moods.

At the moment, though, Claire’s irritated. She doesn’t believe a word that Gray says when he bitches about Trent. Ever. “Jeez, when did you two have a heart to heart?”

“Heart to heart? You’re dreaming. Let’s see what was covered at my last visit to the clinic.” He pretends to think, and it’s causing her to be the mad one now. _What a smug jerk._ “He wants me to keep away from you, and he can’t wait to fuck you when you turn eighteen.”

Her cheeks glow crimson, the scarlet colour spreading from the centre of her nose to the tips of her ears. _Why does he always have to be so vulgar?_ “Oh, really?” Claire dismisses him with her hand angrily, her face all hot. “Trent said that? He really said _all_ of that to you?” _What a bullshitter._ She doesn’t like that kind of language, but it’s fitting for Gray. Sure, Trent’s envious of their friendship, but he’s got manners, unlike _some_ people.

Gray stares at her. “Did he say that exactly? No. Was it implied? Um, yeah-”

 _See? I knew it._ “Would you just stop? My gosh, quit talking out of your ass! I’m not even going away with him.” She rises from the floor, walking over to her sink to rinse her hands. She's gotten up far too abruptly, though, because her thigh is swelling painfully beneath her.

“What? You’re not?” Gray makes no motion to move, but he still keeps his light eyes on hers.

“No!” snaps Claire. “Not now, not later. And you’d know that if you actually listened to me for once.”

“Maybe start saying something worth listening to.”

She lets out a strangled, frustrated groan, turning off the stream of water and drying her hands on a checkered tea towel beside her. Gray's really just instigating and asking for a fight at this point. “You’re so… _freaking_ impossible, you know that? He brought the idea up, and I said that I didn’t want to, and he totally respected that, just like he respects me not being able to have sex.” Her voice unintentionally wavers at this part, and she isn’t sure if it's an unconscious action or not.

“Pfft, that’s believable. Y’know, maybe I’d know some of this shit if you didn’t just cut me outta the loop and ignore me.” His voice is sharp and gruff. Maggie powers toward him, barking and circling the floor as if she’s a non-threatening vulture. But Gray just hoists himself up, tall and proud, like the arrogant jerkwad that he is.

“Talk to the hand, ‘cause I don’t wanna hear it.” Claire holds out her palm in front of his face, the way that Karen does to get people to shut up when she’s totally PMS-ing. “You’re acting completely ridiculous.”

“How the fuck am I acting ridiculous?”

“Just stay the heck out of my business! You know that I don’t have to devote every minute of my time to _you_ , right? Like, I’ve clearly got a life, too.”

This is the first time that she’s seen him with hurt smeared all over his face, and it’s worse because she’s the reason behind it. Gray’s eyebrows get drawn in close together, the pierced barbell maneuvering on his skin as his eyes shift away, his forehead crinkling with disappointment. But, this pained expression that he wears is fleeting, because he snaps his angry eyes back to hers, mouth coiling into a terrible snarl.

“Real fuckin’ nice, eh, Claire?”

One part of her wants to snap right back, because how many times has he put his foot in his mouth after saying something awful to her? _More than I can count on both damn hands._ But then there’s another part of her, the part which knows that this was a horrible thing for a friend to say. Doesn’t she know better?

“I didn’t mean it like that, Gray,” Claire says softly, dropping her chin to the floor. “But… I’m not always gonna be free to do… whatever, y’know? And… I know it might seem like you don’t have a lot of other people around you, but I swear you do. You just tend to push them away sometimes.” She steps toward him when he stays quiet, reaching for his arm. “Say something, please. Are you gonna cry?”

Gray scoffs, pulling back to free himself from her grasp. He’s royally pissed right now. “You think I’m a fucking little brat like you? _No,_ I’m not gonna cry.”

She glares. “I am not a brat.”

“You’re the very goddamn definition.”

“Screw you, Gray. I try to-”

“You don’t try to do _shit._ You don’t try _at all_ anymore. The only thing you try to keep intact is your fucked up relationship with that prick.”

“What is your damage?!” she screams, stomping away from him. She’s going to have to mop later, because her bare feet are stepping in tiny puddles of the remnants from Maggie’s bath, but she doesn’t care. She’s too livid to care about cleaning or keeping things tidy or ruining the hardwood or anything like that. “And don’t you dare call my relationship effed up. Don’t you dare.”

“He’s only with you ‘cause he’s got a thing for virgins. It’s a weird-ass fetish and _yeah,_ it is fucked up.” His feet follow hers, and his next words hurt more than any wound, ache, stitch, or car accident combined. “And you feed into it… because you’ve got some real fuckin’ daddy issues.”

_… Ouch._

Claire quits her trudging, whirling around with balled up fists as she wills herself not to cry. She’s not going to start bawling like a baby… like a little brat. She won’t prove him right. Her shoulders just slump dejectedly, and her teeth immediately go for the side of her cheek. She bites down so hard, and she isn’t sure if she’s caused herself to bleed; although, her mouth is tasting pretty metallic right now. When her nails dig into her palms, the stinging sensation almost awakens her from this heated, catatonic state.

The father complex is a psychological term used predominantly for women; it shifts the blame of a poor paternal figure onto the child. The jocks in her high school hurled this insult at the girls who they deemed as “easy,” or the girls who just didn’t do exactly what they wanted. In the adult world, it apparently meant females who lacked a father figure in their life, filling this void by dating older men outside of their age group. And in her mind, Gray may as well have slapped her across the damn face, because it would have hurt a whole lot less than this. She knows that she didn’t grow up with a dad, she knows that she doesn’t have one… she knows that some sorry excuse for a man raped her mom and stayed anonymous the whole time, and that's the only reason why she’s even here today. She doesn’t need a raw reminder of it, because the very idea makes her want to sob. This factor of her life didn’t totally mess her up… right?

Maybe she does have daddy issues. Maybe it hurts because it’s the truth, and no one enjoys hearing the truth.

It’s just that Gray of all freaking people shouldn’t be the one delivering it to her.

The look on his face tells her that he regrets these words big time. “Blondie… Blondie, please. I’m sorry. I never meant… Claire, c’mon. Look at me, please. I didn’t-”

And instead of crying, or being sad about it, she’s decreed that she’ll be furious instead. She just begins shouting at him, hurling invectives and readying herself to tear out her damn hair. Gray listens for a genuine eleven seconds before something that she says stirs him the wrong way, and he starts yelling back. It becomes a ping-ponging screaming match that causes Maggie to get between them, barking at her, then at him, and then finally at the door that he’s stormed out of. _Good. Get lost and stay outta my face._

Claire lifts Maggie, shaking with rage as she finger combs the tufts of hair on her dog’s head. “What a freaking joke. What an absolute joke. He’s the whole package, he really is. Arrogant, obnoxious, stupid-”

As if Maggie doesn’t want to hear this, she jumps out of her arms, scurrying around the floor like a little mouse. With her teeth grit, Claire shimmies out of her shorts, carefully bringing them down her short legs as she kicks them off to the side. They pretty much resemble the same length as the star-printed boyshort underwear that she’s got on, just with a thicker fabric and seam. She rummages through her drawer, in just her plain cotton bra and panties, kicking on her slippers while bringing the hem of a green and white floral sundress over her head. She turns away from her reflection in the vanity mirror, so that she doesn’t have to look at her scars, or how red-faced pissed she is, or any of that crap-

And the sound of her door flinging open elicits in her ears. “My grandfather wants to know if you’re still coming for-” He lets out a smothered noise as she screams.

“GET OUT!”

“I DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING!”

Claire drags the sundress over her head in record timing, down the perimeter of her breasts and torso as it hovers above her knees. She then turns with another irritated screech as she chucks her slippers at him. Gray isn’t facing her, so one hits the back of his head with perfect aim as though he’s got a target on it.

“WHY THE HECK-”

“IMSORRYIDIDNTSEEANYTHING.”

This is clearly a blatant, obvious lie. There’s no way he didn’t see her complete backside, her butt in her underwear, the grey band length of her bra clasp… the brandished scars under the straps.

_Well, he’s seen those before._

_... Let's not go there._

Okay, she’s never let anyone see her panties. Because duh… why would she?! _Whatever_. It’s not like she was wearing, or even owns, a sexy pair anyway. _It’s just weird that Gray’s seen more of me than Trent has._

SHE’D LIKE TO MAKE IT CLEAR THAT SHE’D RATHER NO ONE SEE ANYTHING.

“Why are you here?!” Claire snaps, awkwardly smoothing out her dress. Gray still isn’t facing her, so she throws Maggie’s ball at his feet. Bad aim this time, though, because the rubbery, spiky material hits the top part of his calf, where his tough hamstring muscles are.

He spins around, glaring. “I didn’t see anything,” he repeats, his face entirely flushed.

“Why are you even back here? And you can’t just _not_ knock-”

“I didn’t think you’d be getting changed,” Gray mutters. “And I’ve told you to fix the fucking lock on your door, ‘cause that shit juts open majority of the time.”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault.”

“Fuck’s sake, Claire. I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

“Why. Are. You. H-”

“My grandfather told me to march back over here and ask if you were still coming.”

“Why?”

Gray lets out an exasperated breath. “’Cause he thinks I was being a cockshit.”

“No, I mean, why would I come?” Claire stops. “But he’s right.”

He ignores this last part, rubbing his jaw. “For him, ‘cause he already made the shepherd’s pie. You really think I want you there?”

“Oh, you think _you’d_ ever be the reason that I’d come?”

He stares at her now, really stares at her. “Do you ever think about your words before you speak?!”

“You are so impossible,” Claire mumbles.

“This is coming from the biggest goddamn pain in the fuckin’-”

“Oh, you know what-”

“Whatever. Fine. I don’t give a shit. I’ll tell him that you said no.”

She glares. “It’d be great if _you_ could just eat somewhere else entirely-”

“-It’s _my_ house.”

It’s not, and Saibara always makes a clear point to remind him of this. “-But I’ll obviously go for your grandfather still.”

“You’re so noble. What a martyr. God, what would we do without you there?”

“Okay, that’s it-”

“What the fuck makes you think that _I_ even want you there?”

Claire bends down, grabbing the slippers that she tossed at him. “Like I said, it’s not for you, it’s for Saibara. I’d _never_ come for _you._ ”

She honestly doesn’t understand what his deal is, because he just glowers at her blankly. “Seriously, _think_ before you _speak._ ”

* * *

“That dress looks nice on you, Claire,” says Saibara, weakly standing up to grab the finished plates. She and his grandson remain glaring at each other from across the geography of the little table, her arms crossed in front of her and his sprawled out lazily.

Claire notices him getting up, and rises quickly to clear the dishes before he has the chance to. “Thank you, Saibara. And your dinner was super good.” She goes to seize Gray’s plate, but his fork still lingers on it, and he’s left all of his peas. “Are you done?”

He looks up at her from his chair and rolls his eyes back in annoyance. She lets out a groan.

“Grayson,” cautions Saibara. “Doesn’t Claire look nice in her dress?”

“Nope. She looks goddamn insufferable.”

This isn’t true at all. First of all, Claire’s a beauty regardless; like a youthful Grace Kelly back in his day. His grandson’s a mix of a young Paul Newman and the late _Rebel Without a Cause,_ with the shitty attitude of the latter, but besides that, everyone’s seen the way that Gray looks at her. She’s a beautiful, kind girl, no doubt, and even though they’re angry with each other, his eyes tend to go soft when he catches a glance at her.

Claire just barks out a laugh, grabbing his dish angrily and making her way to the sink. “Oh, I’m insufferable? That’s rich.”

 _Here we go._ They were arguing outside the door when they both arrived, but remained quiet when they got inside. Then, his grandson said something stupid and raised his voice first, to which Claire reacted irately. Saibara can tell that she’s been trying very hard to remain calm in the company of him tonight, but right now, she’s quickly losing her temper alongside Gray, and it develops into a back and forth bullshit match.

“You are so full of-”

“I’m not doing this in front of your grandfather.”

“’Cause you know I’m right.”

“Oh, as _if_ -”

“Quit while you’re ahead.”

“Y’know, maybe if you didn’t-”

“Like I’d ever-”

“Just hear yourself, Gray-”

“You are so goddamn fucking-”

“Look who’s talking!! Look who is _freaking_ -”

“When you talk… _instant_ fucking headache, I get, Blondie. You know that? An instant, _fucking-”_

“You talk, and nothing comes out. Your words mean literally noth-”

Saibara just lumbers over to the kitchen, searching for his method of shutting out the noise. He listens as Claire calls his grandson a “fire crotch,” to which Gray responds with, “do you even know what that means?!” and she mumbles out a “well, no… I just hear Kai call you it,” before thankfully retrieving his earplugs from the cupboard. Beside their casing lies an album that rests under the fine china from his wedding; the only piece of porcelain he owns.

His grandson… Jesus, he can be difficult, but this pint-sized farmer is giving as good as she gets. Most people don’t yell back at Gray, yet here she is, shouting obscenities at him that she doesn’t even quite understand, as hard as he’s shouting at her.

With the two of them on mute, he’s half-tempted to dig out that note that Gray wrote for her weeks ago… but he wonders how that would even help. _There’s always a time and a place for everything._ Instead, he grabs the album, seating himself once again to prop it down on the table as they hurl insults at each other. Back in his day, they’d call this chemistry… actually, no they wouldn’t. They’d call this a fucking chemistry imbalance.

“Hm,” Saibara murmurs to himself, thumbing through the album as he scans each photo.

Claire breaks her gaze away from his grandson for a moment, tilting her head and walking over to Saibara. She says something, so he removes both earplugs to hear her.

“What is that?” she whispers.

“Ha. Just admit that you don’t have a fucking comeback for-” Gray stops, staring at the album. His voice goes hoarse. “Where’d you get that?”

Claire has already pulled up a chair as she peers over Saibara’s weakened shoulder. “Is that you?” she asks, pointing to an old, worn-out photograph.

Saibara nods. It’s a black-and-white picture of him at the age of nineteen, standing strong and tall. If it were coloured, he’d be depicted with his shock of once-auburn hair, the same shade as his grandson’s. “Yessir.”

“My gosh! Look how handsome you were.” Claire quickly corrects herself. “Are, I mean! I’m sorry-”

“I’m pushing seventy-three, Claire,” he tells her with a wave of her hand. “My prime’s over.”

“Wow,” she murmurs, sneaking a glance at Gray before clipping her attention back to the page. “You guys look just like each other.”

“Sure do.”

Gray arches his brow, the one with that damn piece of metal in it. “Thought you said I look like Uncle Kurt.”

Saibara shakes his head. “Never said that. I said you _act_ like him.”

His grandson looks like he could care less though. He grumbles in his seat across from them, drumming his knuckles on the hollow table.

“C’mere, you little brat,” Saibara chastises.

Claire looks up smugly. “What’d you call him, Saibara? A br-”

“Like I said… fucking insufferable.”

She glares, her mouth agape like she’s going to snap back, but she reverts to the pages. “Was that… your wife?”

Saibara reluctantly nods his head “yes.” That’s her alright, standing next to him with her hair pulled back in a tight bun, a small smile gracing her lips. Sometimes, it’s too painful to talk about her. To talk about the absence of her, or the lack of her in his life.

Good thing his grandon’s here to do it.

“That’s my sorry-excuse for a grandmother,” he snaps. “Walked out on the family ‘cause she liked dope more than everyone ‘round her combined. Remind you of anyone else you know, Gramps?”

“Your father’s not on dope,” is all he responds with.

Claire grimaces. “You’re such an ass, Gray.”

Saibara decides to change the subject. “Here’s one your dad sent me, Christmas of 1991.”

“... Is that the one Mom took? Where I’m between dad and Uncle Kurt by the T.V?”

“That’s it alright.”

“I was like, six there.”

Claire peeks her eyes at the picture. It’s one where his grandson is being hoisted up on the shoulders of both his father and uncle, wearing a pair of Chicago Blackhawks pajamas. He gives the camera a thumbs up with his big, toothy grin. A brightly lit Christmas tree sits proudly in the background.

“Those are my sons,” Saibara tells her. “The one on the left is Gray’s father, Joseph. And the one on the right is Kurtis.”

“They look identical,” she says in surprise. “Are they twins?”

“My father’s older by four years,” Gray mumbles in response. “Sure doesn’t act like it, though.”

She stares at him. “You’re so… cute here. What happened?”

“Turn the page,” Saibara says. “Look.”

She does, and there’s a photograph of a brace-clad Gray, giving a cut eye to the camera while wearing a cocky smirk on his mouth. He stands in an old ice rink penalty box, wearing skates, a helmet, and a number 7 Chicago Blackhawks jersey. He looks proud, gripping his hockey stick like he’s ready to win the entire tournament. Or just kick the shit out of someone else on the ice like he always did.

“Boy, these pictures are randomly laid out here, eh, Gramps? You don’t wanna put them in order by year or something?”

“You’re lucky I got this. It shows you’re clearly my favourite grandchild.”

" _You're_ the favourite?" Claire puts on a bewildered expression.

“Yeah, right. I’m the only grandchild.” He scoffs, then pauses. “My mother took that picture, too,” he says quietly.

“She was always the one taking ‘em.”

“Wish we had more with her.” He smiles slowly. “That’s my Chris Chelios jersey. He was my favourite player, and when she told me he was Greek, too, I got so excited.”

“What’s with all the Blackhawks paraphernalia?” Claire asks.

“They’re my favourite team, and the best team in the goddamn league.”

“I’d argue that the Bruins are.”

“Yeah, you would say something stupid like that.”

Claire chooses to disregard his biased snarky-ness. “I didn’t even know you played sports,” she says.

He’s answering, but still refuses to address her. “I used to play hockey. I was damn fucking good, too.”

“At least you’re humble,” says Saibara.

“Well, I was. Right wing position and the best enforcer on the team.”

“You mean the person who fights everyone? Is that even allowed in minor league hockey?” Claire’s eyes go big.

“Nope.”

“Well, why am I not surprised.”

Saibara flips the page again. “Here’s Gray’s parents on their wedding day.”

“… That’s your mom?” Claire stares like she’s trying to make sense of a math equation in front of her.

There’s his father, his brown hair cropped short for once, the bandana that he always wore ditched, yet peeking out of his handkerchief pocket. And then his daughter-in-law, Tina, Joe’s beautiful wife, chestnut hair shimmering beneath a crown of flowers that Kurt’s girlfriend, Dia, made her. She always wore her hair up, but on that day, she kept it to one long braid instead. Saibara remembers their wedding as if it were yesterday. It was so groundbreakingly special, that it reminded him of the reason as to why he got married in the first place.

“Yep,” mutters Gray, peering at the picture for a moment before looking away. He reaches into the cupboard for a glass, not bothering to fill it up with anything.

“She’s beautiful,” Claire whispers. Even though the photograph is faded, Saibara recounts Tina’s warm, friendly eyes, tall, willowy figure, and infectious personality that meshed so well with Joe’s. Even Kurt liked her, and he hated… most people. The whole family moved out of Leaf Valley, and over to Mineral Town shortly after the wedding, but Gray's parents decided that there was more opportunity for them in the city. Kurt went back to Leaf Valley, vowing to never get married while staying true to Dia regardless, and Saibara... well, Saibara just wanted to remain where he was, visiting each son whenever he was given the chance to.

“It’s two years today that she passed away,” he tells Claire, even though his grandson is listening as well. “It’s not… the best of days.”

She slowly shifts her eyes to Gray, rising from the chair. “You didn’t tell me that,” she mumbles guiltily, her hand hovering over her heart as though she’s found herself in a complete state of shock.

“You didn’t ask,” he says, in a voice that doesn’t sound like his grandson.

Gradually, she trails over to Gray, so small in comparison to his tall frame. She looks up at him sadly before scrunching her face together and wrapping her arms around his strong waist, voice muffled by his t-shirt.

“I’m sorry. I-I really didn’t know.”

He sighs. “I know you didn’t, Blondie.”

“No.” Tears form in her eyes, like a faucet that’s been left on for too long, spilling down her cheeks in wet strokes. “I feel awful. I’m so sorry. If I knew, I would have… I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you, today and in general. I didn’t-”

“I’m sorry, too,” he mumbles, wrapping his muscled arms around her as well. “I didn’t mean anything I said… today’s just a hard day for me.”

Last year, Gray was practically inconsolable on this day. It was the only time that Saibara had ever seen him cry, besides at the funeral.

“I wish I knew,” Claire sobs, shaking her head against his chest. “I would have… I wouldn’t have been such a-”

“You’re fine. You’re not… you’re not whatever you were gonna say. You just… it’s just that I needed you this week… needed you today.” His arms are wound around her body, thumb brushing against her shoulder blade. “That’s all.”

Saibara wonders when he’s gonna get on with it and kiss her tears away, kiss the sadness outta his own heart. But his grandson stays respectful, holds her tight… hugs her without an ounce of selfishness.

Tina was something special to Joey. And Claire’s the same way with Gray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read if you wanna know where I've been haha. Don't if you... don't, I guess? I tend to ramble ugh my bad :u
> 
> Hey everyone, thank you for being so patient ❤ I know my last update was well over a month ago. I'm so sorry. I had the chapters almost completed, but then got some pretty disheartening news a few days later, and just needed to take time off from writing. To sum it up, I found out my dog has a very late stage of two forms of cancer. He's pretty old, and I should have seen this coming, but honestly, the diagnosis was such a shock to me, given that he's been perfectly healthy otherwise.
> 
> Now, if you read my story, I reckon you can tell that my characters do not handle grief well. And this is because... I also do not handle grief well lolz. Every time I tried to open my computer to finish up the chapters, I either hated how they were ending up, couldn't stand the way that I was writing, or just found myself crying. I've already had someone in my life pull the whole, "well, it's just a pet, can't you get another one?" card, and I was like :))))) "plz excuse me for a moment as I go and relentlessly sob lmao." I know that this comes from a place of not understanding, but pets are family. My dog is so much so my family. A lot of my time during this break was spent figuring out what to do, listening to the recommendations from my vet, and learning how to say goodbye when the time comes. The vet said that he's very good right now and isn't suffering, given that he's still behaving 100% normally, but when his time is up, we'll know. For now, he said that I should just keep him comfortable, and he's actually been great. The week after I found out, I was honestly preparing for it to be the end, but he's honestly as happy as can be, as though nothing's changed. Just taking and appreciating every single day with him :)
> 
> Anyway, since I didn't like the way that the chapters were turning out, and since I didn't want to force myself to write if the flow just wasn't working, I went back and edited my previous chapters to keep productive. This also meant combining short ones together, so if you saw that I went from 31 to 26, that is why haha. BTW!! I'm not saying that you have to, but if you want to re-read any chapter, I'd recommend re-reading chapter 12. You obviously don't have to, like it isn't required, but there's things in it that I wish I highlighted more in my first draft. So yeah, if you want to, go for it. The previous grammar just... was a lot of things, but "it" is not one of them LMAO. I corrected that and then finished up these last two chapters this morning (I wanted to post them both at the same time because I felt like reading them one after the other would be good idk aha.)
> 
> Okie dokes, thanks again for being patient. Hopefully some of you still stuck around ❤ I'm setting a goal for myself to update the chapters every Thursday/ Friday, given that I feel like I have everything sorta under control now... I'd love to stick to a schedule like that to keep things organized. 
> 
> Surprise! Joe is Gray's dad. A few people guessed Kurt, that'd make sense, wouldn't it? Given that he's more similar to Gray than Joe is. But, I've always seen Joe as Gray's dad (I very much love that character haha). Can't wait to explain the family tree even further, this was my favoruite part of the chapter to write c:
> 
> Btw, jagoff is a Chicago/ Pittsburgh word for an idiot, basically lmao


	28. The Birthday

“What’s up?” He wipes the beads of sweat off of his forehead, tossing his hat carelessly as he walks through the door. It lands perfectly on the corner of one of their kitchen chairs, like a hoop during ring toss. Gray's skin is littered with mosquito bites, a nice reminder on why he hates these humid summer evenings.

His grandfather looks up from his workstation. “You’re back from Claire’s early.”

“She couldn’t really train properly with her leg still like that… and plus, Ann's hanging out with her tonight.”

“Ah.” Saibara nods. “Doug mentioned that to me.”

Gray makes a face, reaching into their cupboard for a bowl. The only clean one they’ve got right now has a chip on the rim, likely from when he put it in the dishwasher too aggressively. “Your cheap ass went to the inn? Since when do you like to spend money?”

His grandfather stares at him. “Just ‘cause no one likes you, doesn’t mean people don’t like me. Doug’s a good friend of mine, and I try to see him often.”

“Amazing... I’m so glad you guys chill,” says Gray, rifling through their minimal selection of cereal. Did they still not restock on _Cinnamon Toast Crunch_? “I’m finishing the _Frosted Flakes_ off, if that’s alright.”

Saibara ignores him, continuing on with what he is sure will turn in to a lecture. “And that was part of the reason why I didn’t like seeing his daughter in your bed, under this roof.”

He shrugs while keeping an _I-could-give-less-of-a-shit_ attitude, grabbing a spoon and some milk to pour from the fridge. “Oh well, she’s not there anymore.” Walking over to the workstation table while clutching his bowl, he stops dead in his tracks. “Whoa,” says Gray, mouth full of cereal. On his grandfather’s desk is a pink diamond, crystal-like and glistening, buried inside the heart-shaped perimeter of a golden prong encasing. It looks like that expensive necklace the redhead wears in _Titanic_ … the one that she drops off the ship like it’s nobody’s fucking business. “Where’d you get this?”

“The mines,” his grandfather says, as Gray puts his cereal down. “It’s worth more than ten thousand bucks, and you’re not to fuckin’ touch it. You don’t wanna know how long it took to find that.”

“Jesus Christ,” mutters Gray, touching it anyway. It’s cool in his palm, hard and heavy like a diamond should be, the crevices of the heart gleaming in the light. “Gramps, you coulda told me to go to the mines, I’d have gone.”

“Doug came along.”

“What I’m saying is I could have gone instead.”

“And who would you bring to go with you? Kai? That blubbering mess?” Saibara peers around the room. “Where is he anyway, tonight?”

“Figuring some shit out.” His friend has apparently been wrestling with a very stupid idea since the night of Claire’s accident, and Gray would rather not discuss the details behind this issue right now. Instead, he opens up a drawer on his work desk, the earrings that he crafted for Claire staring back at him. He actually smiles to himself; he used a ruby gem as the basis for them, the colour deep like blood and cut into a sparkling halo shape. “Check it out. He came last time with me to find this. And he only cried twice ‘cause they look like Popuri’s eyes.” He frowns, placing the jewelry down to grab his bowl once again. “You’re too old to go into the mines alone, y’know.”

“I didn’t go alone. I told you, Doug came along. You know, it’s really difficult to not mention the fact that you’re sleeping with his daughter.”

“Past tense; slept with his daughter,” Gray corrects smugly, dipping his bowl back to finish the milk. He’s holding it with his undamaged, non-dominant hand, trying to keep it steady. “Second, how the fuck was it difficult to not mention? Like... just don’t mention it. _Duh._ ”

“You sound like Claire,” says Saibara. And he’s right: _duh_ is a complete staple in her vocabulary. Jesus, has he been around her long enough to have her phrases slipping into his own dialogue? “Also, I hope you don’t got _her_ in that same compromised position.”

Gray sets his empty bowl down sharply. “First of all, she’s practicing a vow of… whatever the hell it’s called when you can’t have sex. Second, we’re not even together.”

“You should bring her around here more often. I like her.” His grandfather catches another glance at the earrings on his desk. “Are those for her?”

“Yeah, birthday gift. Looks good, huh?”

He scowls. “Why a ruby? It’s outdated and cheap.”

“It isn’t cheap; it’s inexpensive. And she likes red. Plus, if I ended up finding some kinda diamond in the mines, it’d cost a fortune just to make into jewelry, since you need those lux encasings to go around it. That’s bougie as shit and not her at all.” He nods toward the pink diamond heart. “Who the fuck had the money to spend on that?”

Saibara inspects the ruby, pointing to a crevice on one side. “There’s an indent you didn’t fasten down yet here.”

“I’m getting to it.”

“Take pride in what you do, Grayson. Remember where you started from.”

Jesus _. Alright, Mufasa_. He hasn’t had the chance to fix it yet, but he’s obviously not going to hand them to Claire without refining them flawlessly. “Whatever. You think she’ll like ‘em?”

“I just think you should make them as perfect as they can be… that’s all.”

_The hell?_

Gray nods toward the pink diamond again. _Who the hell had the money to spend on just this?_ “You didn’t ask for my help on it.”

“I didn’t want your help,” says Saibara. “It’s a custom-order necklace, and you’d only slow me down.”

“Chillax. Seriously, who the fuck’s Rockefeller over here ordering this? How much didja charge in total?”

He sighs. “25k just to find the damn thing… 10 for the shaping and construction of it, and 20 to create it into a necklace.”

“Jesus! What idiot spent that kinda cash?” Gray lifts it in his hand, inspecting the diamond on a closer level. He’s impressed with his grandfather’s work, no doubt, but not impressed with the moron that dropped fifty-five thousand dollars on one piece of jewelry. It’s like those shooters that drove around in Chicago, flaunting their new Mercedes Benz’ before it'd get stolen or keyed. To start, they looked like ugly, old man cars. Second, it was a total waste of money, in his opinion. Third, it was like, a hundred dollars for a simple oil change; imagine what a break service would cost! _No thanks._ He’d take his dad’s ’94 greige Toyota Camry any day.

Okay, maybe not. That car was shit on wheels, but hey.

“Give me that,” Saibara says, trying to snatch the diamond back. _“Grayson.”_

“What the fuck? I’m not gonna drop it.”

“Just give it to me. It’s due in three days and I don’t need you ruining it.”

Three days?

Jesus.

Gray deadpans. His thumb hovers over an etching that he didn’t notice before; the words _MINE_ staring right back at him, engraved in one side of the prongs. “Gramps, who’s it for?”

“I dunno… my old age is makin’ me forget now-”

He clenches his jaw. “Would you just tell me?”

Saibara sighs again. “The doctor ordered it… that’s his gift to Claire for her birthday.”

It feels like he’s punched Gray in the gut. “Well, why the fuck did you agree to do it?!”

He looks at him in disbelief. Is Gray _really_ being that ludicrous?

_FUCK NO!_

“We could really use the money, son. Why do you think I haven’t restocked on shit as simple as our cereal in the house, yet?” Beneath his bushy, white brows, Saibara’s blue eyes soften with despondency. “I can’t just turn down a customer because… because of everything that’s gone on, and still’s goin’ on. And I didn’t want you to work on the order and think that it’s better than your gift, just ‘cause it costs more.”

But it _is_ better than his gift; it puts his gift to _shame_. It’s like a brand new Corvette compared to a shitty, beat-up old Toyota. It’s like performing at a talent show, and realizing that Freddie Mercury is on right before you.

Fuck’s sake fuck’s sake fuck’s sake fuck’s sake.

_WHY?!_

* * *

Popuri gets her period two days before Claire’s birthday. She is awakened to a Japanese flag embedded into her white sheets, as horrifying as this sounds, and while completely shocked, she still cries happy tears.

It’s obligatory of her to go by the Snack-Shack and let Kai know this immediately. A wave of long-overdue relief washes over his face, but when he reaches forward to hug her, the palm of Popuri’s hand collides against the bone of his sternum. A nail to his metaphoric coffin, if you will.

Kai has been teetering back and forth since last week with his decision, but the inability to ever hold her again is what makes up his mind fully at this point.

* * *

“A toast, to two bad bitches’ coming of age,” says Karen gleefully, holding up her slice of pizza as though it’s some sort of chalice and not a carb-filled treat. “To Claire, who’s nearly an adult, and to Popuri, who learned the importance of always having a back-up method… in life.”

Claire laughs, hugging Popuri. “Wait, what did Kai say to you again?”

She snorts. “He reached over to hug me, and I stopped him. I was like: ‘Sorry, but this doesn’t change a _thing.’”_

“Wow,” says Karen. “Imagine behaving so jaw-droppingly immature, rather than swallowing your pride to work this shit out _together._ ”

“Ugh, Kare!”

“What? You know I don’t sugarcoat jack shit.”

Popuri sets her untouched slice of pizza down, leaning back on the couch with a huff. “Let’s just talk about something else. I dunno how to even _feel_ about Kai right now. He’s been acting totally different.”

“But he was so sad, Pope,” Claire explains, staring at that spot on her floor where Kai cried an honest-to-God river of tears one night.

Karen scoffs. “And hello? _You_ have been acting different around _him_!”

Popuri makes a face, rubbing her lower stomach to ease those God-given period cramps. “I thought I had his embryo in my stomach.”

“First of all, you mean uterus. Second of all, it woulda been _both_ of your embryos. Talk about adorbs.”

“KAREN.”

She holds up her hands, grinning. “Joking! I’m just tryna lighten the mood now that we know you’re not _with child._ ” She purses her full lips. “And I’m with you on that one. ‘Cause your brother has _not_ been initiating me with the baby-making department, lately.”

“Eww, Karen. Take my pizza… I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.”

Claire frowns. “I thought you guys were trying to… make said baby.”

Karen rolls her eyes. “You’d think when I say ‘let’s do this,’ he’d be ready to jump my bones. But, nooo. Rick’s all anal ‘cause Rod’s coming home.” She bites into Popuri’s slice of pizza, her mossy eyes twinkling. “Jeez, this pizza fucking slaps, Claire.”

She grins. “Thanks.”

Popuri shudders. “Listen, no more telling me about yours and my brother’s sex life. It’s totally gross!”

“Kay, plug your ears so that I can tell Claire about it.”

Claire doesn’t exactly wanna listen to the dirty details either, though. Thankfully, there’s a knock at her door.

“Yay!” exclaims Popuri and Claire, clapping their hands in glee. Popuri doubles over on her stomach though, still reeling in the cramps.

“Ann’s here… so now you can both spend the night bitching at each other instead.”

Karen just sighs, stacking two pizzas on top of each other to eat. She’s nearly as tall as Gray or Rick, with the same kind of fast metabolism that lets her consume whatever she wants without putting on a single ounce of fat, meaning that she always looks bomb. Claire used to have a hard time gaining weight in high school, but has come to terms with the fact that her digestion is definitely starting to slow down with the older that she gets. And honestly, it isn't a bad thing at all.

She runs to the door, readying her: “I’M WEARING PANTS, I SWEAR!” statement. When can she just go back to longer shorts? Her thigh’s beginning to heal properly, regardless. “Oh,” Claire says, surprised. “Hi, Mary.”

Mary frowns on the other side of the door. “How’s your leg? That book you checked out is overdue by three days now, FYI.”

Claire grins sheepishly. “Whoops. Come in! We’re gonna watch a movie.”

Karen and Popuri peek their heads out. “ _Dirty Dancing_ or _Sleepless in Seattle_ ,” Karen clarifies.

“Both of which will undoubtedly make me cry,” adds Claire.

“Me too,” chimes in Popuri. “Hooray for periods.” She pauses. “Which I’ll never, ever, _ever_ take for granted again.”

Mary shakes her head. “Ah, no.”

“No what?”

“No, as in _no,_ I cannot.”

“Oh, c’mon! It’ll be fun,” Claire says, taking her hand.

“Will Ann be joining us?” Mary asks, withdrawing herself away.

 _Crap. Totally forgot about that feud for a sec there._ Claire drums her fingers on the door handle. “Well, yes.”

“Then evidently, it will not be fun.”

“But it’s a girl’s night! Everyone’s coming.”

“Is Elli?”

“She has to watch Stu,” Karen says.

“Then evidently, not everyone-”

“My God, Mary, in or out? Pick one!” snaps Popuri. She makes a face. “Ugh, sorry. I hate PMS.”

“Isn’t PMS before your period?” whispers Karen.

Claire shakes her head. “Stay awhile,” she says. “Make yourself at home.”

“Claire’s also curious as to why you and Ann hate each other,” says Karen.

“Karen!”

Mary glares, crossing her arms over her chest. “Is it any of your business?”

“It just sucks that you two don’t get along.”

Mary motions Claire outside, reaching her arm out to close the door behind her. “Look, my mother did everything… _everything_ for Ann’s family,” she says haughtily. “You know she’s named after my mom?”

Claire widens her eyes as a few mosquitos land on her bare legs, biting into her skin. “She is?”

“Of course. My mother told me that. She and Ann’s mom were best friends… and then she got completely betrayed.”

“How?”

Mary adjusts her glasses, squinting at Claire. “Why does any of this matter to you?”

“Look, it doesn’t keep me up at night or anything like that, but you guys _really_ seem to hate each other.”

“Yeah, well that’s what happens when _someone's_ mother tries to steal my dad away.”

“What?!”

“I need to get home to my mom. She’s waiting for me.” Mary arches her brow. “Bring the book back as soon as you can... It’s been swell.”

“Do you want to at least come by for my birthday in two days?” Claire begins to ask. But Mary’s already kept her head down, making her way out of sight.

Ann bursts in the pathway of her farm not even a minute later, waving her arms. “UGH! Guess who I just ran into!” She pulls her eyelid down with her middle finger. “What the hell was _she_ doing here?”

Claire shakes her head, opening the door to her house for them. Maybe _Carrie_ is the more appropriate movie tonight, given that Mary seems to do whatever her mother wants.

How truthful is this story? There’s clearly a lot more sleuthing to be done.

* * *

Gray figures if he performs before Freddie Mercury, it’ll save his ass. His gift will be better in the fleeting time _before_ receiving The Heart of the Bullshit (he’s dubbed the necklace this, since the _Titanic_ one was called the Heart of the Ocean… whatever, _he_ thinks it’s clever and that’s what really matters here). He saw that Trent had picked up the necklace the morning before Claire’s birthday, when Gray was on his early run. So after work is over that day… when he finishes talking to Kai, he goes over her house as the evening sets.

He’s not sure what will come of giving her this gift early: she’ll see the earrings and decide then and there that he’s always been the one for her? She’s not materialistic like that at all, but he’s kinda hoping they’ll help her come to a realization.

Gray discreetly makes his way to her front door, but finds himself staring through her side window. In the darkness, he can see that cockshit, kissing Claire on her couch. Trent’s hands find their way under her shirt, dipping low and pressing against her intimate skin, to which she arches her back ever so slightly away. Their mouths are still combined, but she’s uncomfortable. Gray’s not paranoid, and he isn’t just imagining things; she’s fucking uncomfortable. She breaks their kiss, pulling back to excuse herself as she pushes a hand through her hair, walking over to her bathroom unsteadily.

The Heart of the Bullshit dangles from her chest, where Trent must have unbuttoned her flannel top… where a peek of her bra shows. He ducks as Trent takes this opportunity to rise by the window, smirking as he shuts the blinds.

And Gray wishes that he were returning home empty-handed.

* * *

His grandfather gives him the day off to go by Claire’s earlier the next day. She’s cleaning her house before everyone comes over that night, and her face brightens instantly when he wishes her a happy birthday upon her answering door. Gray hands her the earrings, prepared in a nice box that he wrapped. Her eyes light up as she opens it.

“Oh, my gosh, Gray, they’re beautiful! Thank you so much!!" She flashes him a dazzling smile, throwing her arms around him. "Holy smokes, this must’ve taken you forever!”

Claire feels so small in his arms. Gray holds her against him, his hand over her back as he dips his head low into her shoulder. Her brown sugar fragrance is intoxicating in his nostrils. “It’s nothing.”

“This is such an amazing gift. You didn’t have to do this at all.” She releases him from her hug, guiding him inside as her eyes shimmer. Maggie paws at the both of them, barking until Gray lifts her up. “You’re so talented with your hands.”

A dirty joke bites back on his tongue, but he keeps quiet instead, merely scratching Maggie behind her ears because there really isn’t much else to say right now. Oftentimes, he finds himself mesmerized just in the little things that Claire does. In the way she tilts her head, puts her hand on her heart, fixes her hair, mindless actions that she does which make him fall in love with her over and over again. Right now, she’s removing the little silver hearts from her earlobes, replacing them with the halo-shaped earrings that he’s crafted for her. Her fingers run along the side of her cheek as she admires them, before grabbing a few of those butterfly clips that she adores to reveal them better by twisting her bangs back.

Claire turns from her mirror to look up at him, her eyes glistening. “Oh, wow, I love them!”

He shakes his head, handing Maggie over to her. “Don’t cry. You’re eighteen now… can’t have none of that crap.”

She sniffles. “I’m always gonna cry, though. I can’t help it.”

“No shit.”

She bends down to place Maggie down, throwing her arms around him once again like she’s holding on for dear life. Even though she's got on the Heart of the Bullshit, she's also wearing his pin, and he suddenly doesn't mind. “Gray, thank you,” she says quietly. “Thank you for being you. Always… even when I totally hate it.”

And he’s never wanted someone so bad in his whole life, not like this. He wants her in the manner that he’s not supposed to have her; in the unapologetic, most unreserved kinds of ways.

He wants to tell her everything.

Claire must feel how tense he is, because she looks up, releasing him as he lets go of her immediately. “What’s wrong? You look like you something bad to tell me!”

_Oh, it’s bad alright._

Kai thankfully emerges at her door without knocking, nodding at the two of them. “Fashionably late,” he says, missing that signature charm he’s always got. He’s also painstakingly early. He tosses her an unwrapped, brand-new, still-in-the-box disposable camera. “This Kodak’s for you. My mom works there back in Chicago… she hooked me up.”

“Kai!” Claire exclaims. “Thank you, but what the heck?! All I got for your birthday was a new frying pan and some Hawaiian pizza!”

“Nastiest shit ever,” says Gray.

Kai shrugs. “Well, you deserve it, Claire. You’ve helped me a lot.” He gives a small smile. “Here, open it. I’ll take a picture of you guys right now.”

Claire tears open the packaging without any precision, excitedly handing the camera off to him. She steps back, grinning, before turning to face Gray with a stare. “Are you gonna smile?” she asks, pointing at him.

“Probably not,” he tells her.

Kai snaps a picture of this, the flash buzzing on both of their side profiles. “Look, a candid where you’re both about to start bitching at each other,” he remarks. “Now smile, damn it.”

And Gray just shakes his head, grinning slowly as Claire holds a peace sign out next to him. He used to do that hand symbol, too… only over his mouth with his tongue out, when he and Kai thought that they were the coolest individuals on the planet. The two of them really thought that this pose let the world know that they got girls on the regular… even though it just helped to affirm their classmates’ beliefs that they were merely immature virgins.

“I know what you’re thinking,” says Kai, reading his mind after he’s snapped the photo.

Claire arches her brow. “Huh?”

“You wouldn’t get it, Blondie.”

“I bet I would.”

“Oh, I bet you would not,” muses Kai, snapping another candid picture of them. “Jeez, you know, I think you blinked. I don’t wanna waste all of your film, but try for one more.”

“Here,” says Claire, taking the camera and motioning for Kai to come beside them. She extends it out, but seeing as though her arms are the shortest, Gray holds it, flipping it around as he snaps a picture of the three of them smiling and sandwiched together.

Claire rubs at her bleary eyes, blinking quickly to get the flash damage out of her sight. She looks up at him. “Hey… what is it that you wanted to tell me?”

Gray shrugs, barely concealing a smile. “Just… happy birthday, Blondie.”

* * *

Her party goes off without a hitch. It’s not even a party, really; it’s everyone sitting around laughing as Claire blasts 80’s music from her shitty CD player. Kai says that he’s taken the role of Henri Carter Bresson, snapping photos that likely aren’t turning out very good: of Karen hugging Claire tight, of her, Ann and Popuri with red solo cups full of iced tea, of Gray just… there, happy to be around her. Trent arrives late, bringing an old _Taboo_ game that he borrowed off of Stu, when he went to check in on a sick Elli. Ann and Cliff are both God-awful at it, though not as bad as Claire is with Gray.

They’re on the final round. His word is: mistake. “Okay, if I fuck up, I made…”

Claire frowns. “You made me mad?”

“No! Like, if I did something wrong-”

Popuri squeezes the excruciatingly annoying buzzer. “Can’t say ‘wrong.’”

“Goddamnit.”

“Gray! We’re at negative six points now!”

“Jesus fuck.”

“Holy shit, that means we’re gonna win by default!” Ann cheers, high-fiving Cliff.

“And we only had one point,” he says with a laugh.

“I bet we’d be good at it,” says Trent, kissing Claire’s cheek. “Why not try?”

Their points go from zero to stacked, and the two of them are kicking Karen and Rick’s sorry asses in half.

“You get the word ‘acupuncture,’ but you don’t get ‘mistake?’” Gray mutters.

“YOU are the reason we lost… not me!” Claire replies with a laugh.

Trent pats her hand. “It’s just that you understand me, is all.”

Gray did not only lose the game, but he’s about to lose his lunch right now. It’s almost making all of the party pizzas that she baked with Ann inedible.

_Well, almost._

“Something you do after sex!” Karen shouts, waiting for Rick to get the answer. She repeatedly taps the table, clutching the flimsy card in her hand. “C’MON!”

“Fuck, I dunno? Cry?”

“You _cry_ after sex?” Gray barks out a laugh at Rick, mid pizza bite.

“What’s wrong with crying after sex?” Claire asks, at the same time that Cliff says this, bursting out into snickers. Is this a painful coincidence, or two virgins with telepathic communication? Gray isn’t sure.

“Fuck’s sake, the word was sleep.”

“Why didn’t you say bed, or night, or nap?” Rick scowls.

Karen holds up the card in his face, shoving it over. “Those were all words that I _couldn’t say!”_

Popuri presses the buzzer, the frustrating _“nu-uh”_ sound eliciting from it a hundred times, laughing. She looks over at Kai, who is staring at the box that the game came in, rotating the camera over and over in his hands. Normally, he’s always got a comment for this kind of shit. Lately, that’s not the case.

Gray is the only one who knows the reasoning behind his silence.

Trent tells Claire that he’s grown tired _(like a goddamn old man; it’s only 11 o’clock. My own grandfather stays awake later than this)._ But, she requests that Kai take a photograph of the two of them. Her boyfriend is initially reluctant, and Gray wonders if the work that he’s had done on his face will shine through in pictures, but quickly says that he’ll do anything for her _(there goes my lunch again)._ Sitting, he pulls her backward on his lap, making eye contact with Gray before his hand snakes its way under the hemline of her dress, and over the top of her undamaged thigh. Claire just presses her face against Trent’s stoic one, arms wrapped around him as she smiles.

Doctor McShithead readies himself to leave, but Cliff pulls him aside to question him about this thing that he’s got on the back of his heel. It’s pretty comical, if Gray’s being honest.

“Let’s do a Pornstar together!” Claire tells him, as Ann begins drizzling the liquor into some shot glasses. “This’ll be my one drink for the night.” She cheers’ her glass to his, and they smile at each other before downing it back. Kai snaps a picture of this, too.

“Ah, my eyes!” she says, rubbing them again.

“Whoops,” says Kai. “Slippery fingers.”

His best wingman. What’s Gray ever gonna do without him around?

“Hey, I want a Slippery Nipple,” remarks Ann, her eyes sparkling.

Gray just grabs an entire bottle of vodka from her, shrugging. “This is mine for the night.”

Kai shakes his head, removing the bottle from Gray’s hands to set aside on her kitchen counter. He takes Claire’s arm. “Can you come here a sec?”

_Guess it’s time._

She just nods all confused, following him outside.

* * *

Popuri’s right: Kai’s been acting totally forlorn and weird lately. Not overtly emotional and bawling like he’s been doing all season, but just… strange. Almost as though he’s commiserating toward himself.

“Claire, thank you for opening your home up to me during this very difficult time.”

“Kai!” she laughs, rubbing her arms against the cool, summer night. Fall is coming sooner than she’d like. “Why’re you being so formal? It was nothing! I hope you don’t think I hated having you around or anything.”

“Well, the camera I got you is for you to remember me by.”

Claire frowns. “What?”

“I’m moving back home when the summer ends.”

She looks like he’s just told her that he plans to start doing crack or something. Her eyes become massive saucers. “WHAT!? Kai, what are you talking about?”

He dejectedly looks off. The sky is painted with millions of little twinkling stars, and the crescent moon looms over above them. “There’s nothing left for me here.”

Claire scrunches her face up, trying hard not to cry. Goodbyes always suck, and this one really is no exception. It shouldn’t even be happening… not to mention, she’s awful at coming to terms with them. “Why would you say that? There’s your Snack-Shack, and hanging out with me and Gray, and-”

“And what, Claire? And Popuri?”

She stays silent, and he just removes his bandana, running a hand through his untamed curls. “I gotta re-find myself… I was only ever supposed to be here one summer. I stayed because of Gray… because he needed somebody after his mom died… and then I needed Popuri after that. But, now-”

Claire swipes at her eyes. “But, now what?”

“But, now I got nothing... I got nothing. I’m going home… but, I just wanted to thank you. For being there for me, for hearing me out.”

“Who knows this?”

“Just Gray. I’m probably gonna tell Karen tomorrow, and then she can relay the message to Popuri-”

“Kai, how can you tell all of these people before you tell her?!”

“She’s not talkin’ to me. What am I supposed to do?”

Claire shakes her head. Kai not being around is going to feel so bizarre… and it’s going to affect Gray’s loneliness even further. Is that another reason why he’s been so miserable all week? “That’s insane.”

He just ignores this statement of bewilderment, hugging her. “Thank you, Claire.”

“Kai-”

“Popuri doesn’t want me anymore… and if she doesn’t want me anymore, then what’s the point of staying here? I told you, I got nothing left. I’m gone.”

* * *

“What the heck,” mumbles Popuri, staring out the window. She’s not the jealous type, honest, but seriously, what are Kai and Claire talking about so privately outside? And _why_ is he hugging her?

“Don’t,” Gray says, standing beside her. He takes a swig of the vodka, watching as Trent grabs his coat to leave. He turns his attention back to Popuri. “It’s all very fucking complicated.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gray doesn't like Titanic, or old Toyotas, or brand new Benz's. I'm pretty indifferent to all three haha. :b Also, I'm a fkn FIEND at Taboo LMAO IT'S THE ONLY PARTY GAME I TRULY ENJOY


	29. The Funeral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for a heavily implied sexual assault scene after the eleventh line break. The actions don't get descriptive, but the dialogue might be disturbing for some.

The funeral is sad.

This is the kind of statement that someone would read, go “pfft,” followed by a “well, no shit.” But it _is_ sad. There’s no other fucking word to describe it other than sad. The sky is painted with purple gloom the day of, raindrops pelting the earth angrily, drizzling as the coffin gets wheeled inside of the church. And Popuri sobs, with Claire, Ann, and Karen next to her. Gray swallows as Rick just stares at his little sister, silent and speechless.

Because the regret that they’re feeling is just as powerful as the words that they cannot bring themselves to say.

But something like this needs to be told from the beginning. Start to finish.

No bullshit.

* * *

“Are you coming to the fireworks festival, Kai?” Claire had asked, standing behind the grill that he was manning. He really had no care for his cooking anymore; it was just turning to shit, much like his social game and emotional stability. But, he’d been getting better with the tears. Gray said he was indifferent to him leaving, though the hurt in his voice was clearly apparent. Claire herself was still in a state of shock about it all. He had no choice but to keep himself busy with the lease of the Snack-Shack until the end of the summer; his heart wasn’t into it, and therefore, neither was he.

“I dunno. Probably not,” Kai muttered, dragging his scraper across the grill in an effort to clean the blackened, charcoal dust off of the hardened bristles.

Karen threw her hands up in exasperation. “Ugh, well who the fuck am I gonna make fun of now?”

“There’s always Ann,” suggested Gray. “Don’t you love making fun of her?”

“I love getting laid,” Karen said, thoughtfully pondering for a moment. “Although, I’d reckon my parents get more action than I do lately.”

“Ewww, so gross, Kare!” Claire exclaimed, making a wretched face. She reached for the sesame seeded buns in the bar fridge, pulling them out. “Um, these look stale, Kai. _Double_ gross.”

“You’d think telling someone ‘let’s try for a baby’ puts the fuckin’ pedal to the medal. _Apparently not.”_ Karen sat back in her seat, filing her nails with an exaggerated eyeroll.

“He’s under a lot of stress ‘cause him and Pope’s dad’s coming home,” Kai said, shrugging. He kept his gaze on the burning grill in front of him, as Claire worriedly laid out some burger patties. “What’re you gonna do?”

“Whoa,” muttered Gray. “Did you just… defend Rick?”

“I’m impressed!” Claire added, grinning. She’d been trying to keep positive, but the proposition of him leaving didn’t sit well with her. She’d only known him since her first few days in town, but they’d grown close. Watching a once cocky ladies man sob on a couch could do that to a friendship, she guessed. Her expression shifted immediately to a frown. “Kai… you really can’t go. Who’s going to-?”

“Cry on your sofa? There’s always Karen,” he said with a forced grin.

Karen looked up from her nail filer sharply. “I only cry during certain episodes of the _Gilmore Girls_ on my period, Kai.”

“TMI,” said Gray.

“I’m going, guys,” Kai said, more firmly than he meant to. “I need to go back to Chicago for a bit, be with my family, clear my head… then see the world. But I might come back next summer.”

“Oh, bull,” said Gray, tipping the last of his beer can back into his mouth. His long bangs fell into his eyes. “That’s total fucking bull, and you know it.”

Claire brushed the fringe out of her face. “Kai, this is insane.”

He gave the two of them a once-over. “You both need haircuts, you goddamn hippies. See Manna to get one sooner rather than later.”

Gray chose to ignore this, turning his bar stool to Karen. “Why is Rod coming home the biggest cockblock of your married life?” he asked, fiddling with the metal tab of his beer can. He ripped it off, spinning it on the counter. “Like, who the fuck cares?”

“Um, hello? There’s just a lot of pressure. Rick hasn’t seen his dad in forever,” said Karen incredulously.

“Join the club,” replied Gray. He looked over at the grill. “Are the burgers ready yet? Or…”

“Dads are important,” said Karen, placing her filer down in front of her. She inspected the buffing job she’d done on her long nails, nodding in approval.

“Don’t be an ass,” Claire chided to him.

Gray held up both hands like he was weighing out his options. “Mmm… I’d say no. They aren’t important.”

Claire narrowed her eyes at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh, stop it, Gray. Rod not being here for so long has definitely taken a toll on them. They need their dad back.”

He knew that this was obviously her way of saying: _quit pretending like your own father’s absence doesn’t affect you_ , but he was fine on his own. Not having his dad around meant not having to brace himself for the disappointment of having a drug user for a parent. Plus, seriously, he wasn’t about to make another daddy issue comment to Claire, given how much his words fucking crushed her last time… but what the hell did she know about any of this?

“You don’t get to just leave and waltz back in, pretending like everything’s fucking dandy,” he said with a scowl.

Karen frowned. “That’s Rick’s argument about the whole thing.”

“He left to help his wife,” Kai said.

“I don’t care if his intentions were good. Any kind of absence that goes on for that long is selfish.”

Claire rolled her eyes at him. “Talking to you is like talking to a brick wall. You’re totally impossible.”

“Who’s impossible?” Trent waltzed in, the chimes above the Snack-Shack entrance clattering loudly. He walked up to Claire, kissing her long and hard. That stale bread was more appetizing than everyone simultaneously watching this exchange transpire. “Hi, you.”

“Hey.” She smiled, like she was looking at the only guy in the entire world. Kai gave a low-key Italian hand symbol that those European customers at his father’s restaurant always used to communicate with, while Gray and Karen stifled a chuckle.

“What were you all talking about?” Trent asked, taking Claire by the waist. This was an evident, telltale sign that he was about to steal her away from them. She just pushed back the bangs out of her eyes again.

“Haircuts,” said Kai.

Trent poked Claire’s nose. “Not for you, I hope.”

She made a face. “So what if it was for me, huh?” A coy smile played on her lips. “You’re such a goof, sometimes!”

“I’d never want you to cut your beautiful hair. It makes you, you,” he said, shutting his eyes as he kissed her again.

Karen stuck her tongue out, finger down her throat like she was going to puke. Kai laughed broadly.

Trent retreated back, frowning over at him. “I heard that you were leaving, Kian.”

Kai pretty much had had enough at this point. There really was no need for pleasantries anymore if he was as good as gone. “Jesus! It’s Kai, motherfucker.”

Everyone stared blankly at his loud outburst, but Gray was the only one who looked pleased regarding it. Kai shifted his eyes around the room, improv-ing a genuine knee slap. “Kidding! Got ya... huh?” He was the best at charming and getting himself out of tough situations; sure, he was a little rusty, given that he hasn’t been appealing for the last season, but it’s chill.

Claire shook her head, concealing a smile. “Gonna miss that humour, Kai.”

Trent looked very unimpressed throughout the whole ordeal, though. “Gotta jet, everyone. See you later.”

“Hey!” exclaimed Karen. She motioned her hands with a wink at the base of her hips. Claire flushed crimson, laughing sheepishly as they exited out the door.

“Um… what was that?”

"The most cringe-worthy bullshit I ever saw," said Gray, craning his neck over at the grill. "The hamburgers are burning, Kai."

“Oh," said Karen. "I got her this purple thong for her birthday, so I used a gesture to see if she was wearing it n-” She stopped herself, groaning. “Holy fuck... I have such a huge mouth.

“We know,” said Kai.

She noticed Gray squeezing his empty beer can tightly. “Jesus, Gray! Pine any harder, you’ll turn into a goddamn fuckin’ tree.” She winked again. “Ugh, how is it possible for me to be _this_ hilarious?”

He groaned. Jesus, why’d she have to go and put that image in his head? A thong sounded seriously sexy on Claire. Over her creamy skin, covering her intimate flesh, wearing just that with a pair of socks… _ugh_ , he had to stop doing this to himself.

“Beer me,” Gray muttered, tossing the misshapen, empty can off to the side.

* * *

Claire had her fingers spread out on one of the inn tables over a place mat, attempting to delicately paint her nails for the Fireworks Festival. She frowned at the OPI bottle of lavender polish. “'Vio-let’s Surf?’” she read. “Who names these?”

Popuri shrugged next to her. “My favourite’s ‘The Berry Thought of You.’” Her tone was cold though, not at all bubbly like she used to be.

Claire concentrated on not getting the colour on her cuticles, failing miserably. Her hands shook as she sloppily painted each nail bed. She scowled, looking up from her spread out fingers in concern. “Hey, what’s wrong? You seem super distant.”

“It’s nothing.” Popuri took notice to her awful paint job. “Karen can do that for you, y’know,” she said quietly.

Claire frowned. “What is it, Pope?”

She sucked up a breath. “Why did you and Kai go outside on the night of your birthday?”

“Huh?”

“Well, he pulled you outside, then hugged you… like, what the heck was that all about?”

“Oh,” mumbled Claire. “I dunno… um, something about the Snack-Shack… not doing well.”

Popuri scoffed. “Please, cut the crap and tell me. You’re terrible at lying.”

She shook her head. “I can’t say anything. I promised.”

“Claire!”

“I can’t! I crossed my heart that I wouldn’t. He’ll tell you when you give him a chance to speak.”

Popuri immediately regretted these next few words: “Are you leaving Trent for him? I never ever, ever pictured you guys together, but-”

“Excuse me?!” Claire snapped. She set aside the nail polish, unintentionally smearing the still wet colour on the sides of the bottle. She borrowed it from Manna, so she had better find a way to clean that crap off. “My gosh, no! Of course not! I wouldn’t just break girl code like that, with _your_ ex. How could you think that of me?”

“I don’t,” Popuri said all guilty. She stared at her own hands in her lap once again. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings… I’m just not in a good place right now. I miss my dad, I want him home, and I didn’t understand… what was even going on around me.”

Claire looked away. “It’s fine. Don’t worry.” She paused, tapping her spread out fingers over the place mat. “I think you should go up to Kai though, because it’s gotta come out of his mouth. Not mine.”

Popuri nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“And… besides the fact that I’d never think of doing that to you, I love Trent.”

Popuri fixed her gaze on the expensive necklace that Claire's boyfriend got her, raising her red eyes. “You do?”

She nodded slowly. “I really think that I do.”

* * *

“I’m a little tied up at the moment, love,” said Trent, over the phone to Claire. Jesus Christ, couldn’t she just hop off his dick? He’d been seeing a lot of her lately, and still hadn’t gotten any.

“What about the Fireworks Festival?” she asked.

A night with all of her friends, watching low explosive pyrotechnics in the sky… yeah, what more could he ever want? There was a reason that he only made a brief appearance at her birthday party – he liked time alone with _her_ , not with those irritable twats that she spent her days with.

“I’ll meet you at Mother’s Hill. Hopefully I make it on time!”

Trent heard her sigh into the phone, but he instructed himself to play the part. Lying to her was the easiest thing he could do. “Claire, I'm not supposed to talk about this, but there’s a medical emergency that I’m in the middle of.”

“What?!” she exclaimed. “With who?”

“I can’t say,” he told her. “I’m just hoping that it all works out.”

“Okay, well, good luck. Be safe… I lov-”

“Gotta go,” he said, shutting the receiver. He didn’t have time for this right now.

Where was Elli? He could always count on her to loosen him up a bit.

It’s just too bad he fucking jinxed the entire evening, and everything that followed, with this one phone call.

* * *

“Are you coming, Mother?” Popuri asked, clutching Claire by the wrist. “Ann, Cliff, and Doug are already up there.”

Lillia shook her head at her daughter. “You go, sweetie. Your father should be here when you get back, don’t you worry.” Her face broke out into a frown. “I still can’t believe you told me that Kai’s leaving. Are you-?”

“Fine. I’m totally fine.”

And she exited her front door, stomping away with Claire.

“Pope, my arm!” she complained.

“How can he just leave? How can he just up and leave?”

“My _circulation_!”

“And like, who does he think he is?”

Claire gripped her wrist back, freeing herself. “But… you didn’t want him anymore.”

“He’s just running away from his problems. What a freaking joke.”

Karen saw them trudging up Mother’s Hill, listening in on this last part of the conversation. “Or maaaybe, he’s being realistic. You made it clear you’re through, remember?” She narrowed her eyes. “Or, do you not feel strongly about that anymore?”

“Ugh, Karen!”

Rick and Gray followed along behind them, quickly catching up. Rick looped his arm with his wife’s. “You’re better off without him, Pope,” he told her. “These city shooters-”

“Watch it, Rick,” Gray warned. “And since when do we go up to Mother’s Hill to watch the fireworks?”

“Better view than at the beach,” Karen said. “Plus, they won’t be so close and ringing in our friggin' ears.”

He turned to Claire. “You’re alone tonight.”

“Trent had an emergency at the office.” She frowned, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “I just hope that everything’s okay.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s all fine.”

Claire was about to come up with a disdainful remark, but the evening was turning out to be so beautiful. The air felt crisp, but still smelt all summery, and the full moon had already set its place in the night sky. She just had this weird feeling that it was going to rain later, though. “Guess you’re stuck watching them with me,” Claire told him with a grin. Maybe it was okay that Trent was busy dealing with medical crap. Her best friend was going to need her now more than ever with Kai readying his departure.

“I’d rather die,” Gray said, adjusting his cap.

“So, that’s a no?”

“That’s a definite no.”

But they sat and watched the fireworks altogether, the two of them beside each other, surrounded by the rest of the group. Her eyes sparkled at the array of colours, because she loved the beauty that fireworks brought. He laughed because of the memories that they conveyed in his mind. Claire told him about the time that her mom topped one of her birthday cakes with sparklers, and Gray explained a prank that he and Kai set off in the seventh grade, using fireworks at a local park, singing a beloved sandbox as well as half of their leg hair. And she pushed him, throwing her head back and laughing. Her face was glowing amidst of bright shots of lithium and magnesium and calcium and potassium elements, and amidst all the bullshit in life, he felt happy to be alive at that moment. He _felt_ alive.

* * *

They emerged from the bottom of the hill, where Officer Harris was waiting, standing in his blue uniform and tapping his foot nervously. “Popuri, where’s your brother?”

She furrowed her brow, then scoffed. “Him and Karen left early. Go figure.”

Ann winked beside her. “Wonder what that means.”

Harris said nothing. He just pressed his lips in a tight line, frowning, looking like he was trying very hard not to break down in front of the group.

“Um, is everything okay?” Claire asked.

Harris swallowed. “I need you to come with me, Popuri.”

“What? Why?”

And that is when the three-day rain began.

* * *

It happened like this: Rod felt a pain in his side for the last couple of days. But he was determined to get home. And he got home, docked his boat to shore, ignoring the sharp discomfort on the right side of his lower abdomen. It felt like it was getting worse. He was done with using excuses, though: he had to see his kids, his wife, his town… had to make up for all of the lost time. He missed his own son’s wedding, missed the flicker of his wife’s eyes, missed seeing Popuri grow up. His absence was in vain, because he didn't even find the cure for Lillia’s illness that he was looking for.

The atmosphere felt thick, and his clothes began to constrict him. His stomach felt the heaviest. He swayed as he docked his boat to shore, the world all dizzy, collapsing against the sea.

Before his eyes closed peacefully, a man in a purple bandana ran over to him, shouting for help, and the world went eerily dark. It was almost serene in a way... like a sweet dream.

His life didn’t flash before his eyes. What life? There was so much that he lacked, so much that he didn’t get to do, so much that he missed.

So much that he never got the chance to actually live out.

* * *

Guess there was a medical emergency after all: an appendicitis.

A goddamn fucking appendicitis. That’s how Rod died? By his appendix rupturing, by toxins enveloping his entire body? By something so easily preventable? Trent could perform an appendix removal in his sleep; it wasn’t _that_ complicated. And yet, this man didn’t go with that option. He was on the boat for days, maybe weeks, likely ignoring the pain, given that it wasn’t treated. The venom of his own body part enveloped every blood cell, overcame him, caused bacteria in the blood, elicited a septic shock... a form of sudden death. Trent never had any goddamn sympathy for this kind of bullshit. For smokers who started coughing up blood: _well, why didn’t you just put the pack of cigs down?_ For heart disease patients: _well, why didn’t you just eat a little healthier?_ For people experiencing a plethora of bad headaches: _well… that one… er, um… why didn’t you… why couldn’t you just have noticed it all sooner?!_

He didn’t have sympathy for a soul on this earth. Or, for the souls who left this earth. He was a cold son of a bitch. You’re not supposed to be that kind of a doctor, but in essence, he was very much that.

He and Elli stood over the lifeless body on their surgical table, bloodied scalpels and gauze scattered about on the desk near them. Rod was already gone by the time the blacksmith’s right-hand man and the shipment deliverer brought him in. Elli had choked back a sob, feeling for a pulse, a twitch, something, anything. He had told her to give up, because it was over. Trent just listed the time of death, leaving her alone with Rod on the cold table.

* * *

“I’ll call Hardy,” Elli said, reaching for the phone.

He slammed the receiver away from her. “Don’t you fucking dare, Elli.”

She paled. Zack and Kai returned with Lillia, Rick, and Karen in tow. Rod’s wife trembled as she tentatively reached for her late husband’s hand, weeping; her son and daughter-in-law stood beside her sombrely. Elli knew what it was like to lose a parent… she couldn’t imagine losing a spouse, or a sibling, or a child-

Popuri burst in fifteen minutes later, and the worst part was soon to be unveiled. She ran toward her father and dropped down on her knees, gripping his lifeless arm, sobbing, and sobbing, and sobbing some more. The sound was painful. Trent just explained in his clinical voice at how sorry he was, asked if they wanted some privacy, watched as her face morphed into the most apparent of distress. Lillia grew more silent, and Rick just kept his hand on her shoulder as Popuri bawled inconsolably. Karen left her husband's side to sit next to her sister-in-law, staring at Rod’s cadaver while blinking back tears.

Elli fought the urge to cry in front of this broken family, as she and Trent explained to them how it must have all transpired: how his appendix rupture likely went undetected for days, how deadly they could be (even though Karen already knew their severities, as she had experienced one herself), how long it takes for the toxins to end an individual's life. And then, Elli knelt beside Popuri, holding her and telling her how truly sorry she was... Sorry for not being able to do much of anything. She felt like a complete failure.

She’d never been able to do, or stop, anything from occurring in her life. The world rotated on its axis, directed Elli as to what was going to happen, and she just lived by reacting to it. She accepted every other change and action around her, as though she had zero power to change it at all. There was one thing she vehemently opposed herself to, because she knew that it was something she could never, ever want... but even trying to stop this didn't work. It had to keep continuing, or else everything would just crumble to bits around her.

* * *

They had to get this finished and dealt with; the way that Trent saw it, Rod's body was just laying there and doing no good for anyone. He tried pulling the pink-haired girl away from the body, because there wasn’t any point to someone holding on to dead flesh, but she blindly backhanded his mouth, screaming to get him off of her. He retreated back, reaching for his bloodied lip. In that moment, he really just wanted to hit her the fuck back… but she probably didn’t know what she was doing… other people were present… he couldn’t risk doing this. The room was starting to feel far too small for him.

Trent emerged out of the clinic with his bloodied gloves, heaving a breath of fresh air in the rainy, nighttime atmosphere, and there was the waitress, the blacksmith, and his Claire standing before him. She worriedly threw her arms around him, clinging as she mumbled out a million “sorry's," while the other two just stared at him with hateful eyes.

* * *

“It isn’t your fault,” Claire told him, for the hundredth time. “You can’t blame yourself.”

Trent said nothing. He stared at her television in front of him blankly. The mutt didn't even come near him that night.

He wanted a drink. He required a fucking drink. “Do you have any wine?”

She stopped, reluctantly nodding. He gifted her with an expensive bottle for her birthday, along with that necklace that cost him a fortune, and he still wasn’t getting any? Fucking bullshit.

She offered to pour him a glass from it, but he took a swig straight out of the bottle instead.

“Does that help?” Claire asked worriedly.

He nodded, staring at the T.V. in utter silence.

“Trent.”

_Shut up._

“Trent?”

_Stop saying that._

“Trent!”

_“WHAT?!”_

She stared at him. “There’s nothing more you could have done… I heard that appendix ruptures happen all the time."

“Oh, you heard?” he snapped, taking another swig. “You and your extensive medical knowledge _heard?”_

Claire’s eyes shimmered with pain, but she attempted to conceal this. “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now. I’m only trying to let you know that none of this is on you.”

“Do you… really believe that?” Trent slurred. _Swig. Swig._ He kept drinking. “Do you… really?”

“Of course I do. You’re a good doctor.”

_Ha._

“That blacksmith didn’t put some other shit into your head?”

She furrowed her brow and fuck, he needed to stop talking. “What?”

“Nothin’.”

“I know how hard this must be for you… to lose a patient. But I think-”

“You think what? You’re not a doctor… you didn’t try to save someone without a fucking pulse.”

Claire swallowed and it’s because he was right, obviously. He was always right. “I know I didn’t.”

“You’re just a farmer.”

She turned away from him, tugging at the ends of her hair while biting her cheek. “You’re drunk… you don’t mean any of this.”

Trent reached forward to hug Claire, drawing her in close to try and get himself out of this trouble that he’d created. _You keep talking like that, and even someone as stupid as her will learn the truth._

She shook her head, masking the hurt from her face. “Come with me to the funeral mass tomorrow.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t? No one’s blaming you, but maybe it’ll help you to find-”

“Both.”

“Huh?”

“Can’t or won’t. I say both.” He took another long swig, clutching the wine bottle in his delicate hands. “You’d never understand.”

* * *

“... Where are you going?” Trent asked. Elli wasn’t wearing her nurse’s outfit; instead, he saw her figure in a black dress that she was clad in. Her body was tall, well-proportioned, and beautiful, not an ounce of a scar to be seen. It was a wonder that she still had a body like that… given everything.

“To the mass. Rod knew my mother,” she said softly.

They were at the clinic, finalizing the medical report regarding Rod's death. Everything was eerily quiet, so he just smashed the door shut in front of her, a booming noise erupting the room. He almost laughed.

“You’re drunk, Trent,” she muttered.

“What’d you call me?”

“You’re drunk… Doctor.” Her brown eyes pleaded with him. “I have to go.”

“You’re a part of this mess with me.”

“What mess? God, don't accept that kind of blame. Rod was already dead when he got here... we did nothing wrong! Hardy said if we’re going through hell, he can-”

“NO!” Trent snapped. “Hardy is NOT to come here. I made that PERFECTLY clear to you, Elli. Does your idiotic head not fucking get it?”

“Don’t speak to me like that,” she whispered.

“What the fuck did you say?”

Elli shook her head, pieces of her short hair falling into her eyes. Why did her hair have to be so cropped? Why couldn’t it be long, to her waist, and light in colour like Claire's? “He’s worried about you. He hasn't seen you at all, since you came here.”

“I said-”

“Okay. Well, I’m leaving now, Doctor.” She tried turning the knob once again, but his arm pressed against the hardwood of the door, slamming it effectively.

“Turn around, Elli,” he demanded.

“What?”

“Turn. Around.” He grabbed both of her wrists.

"Don't do this."

"Turn. Ar-"

“Let go of me," she said desperately. "I need to pay my respects at mass.”

“You can't.”

“Trent… Doctor, no. I need to go right now.” Elli wiggled her wrists to break free, but he kept his grip firm on her.

“What’d I say would happen if you said no, hmm?”

She didn’t answer, so he just released one wrist to pull on the back of her head, bringing her face to his. “HMM?”

“You’re drunk,” Elli snapped, attempting to still break free. The alcohol was apparent on his breath. “Let go of me. You’re fucking wasted.”

Trent shook his head. “Bend over.”

“Trent.”

“Lock the door, lift your fucking dress, and give it to me.”

“Stop it. Stop it right now.”

“I’ll fucking blacklist you from this goddamn clinic, Elli. I’ll tell everyone your dirty secret. Everything, I don’t give a fuck.”

She bit back a sob. “You fucking monster. Just, let me-”

Trent grabbed her even more forcefully. “Bend. The fuck. Over.”

He released his tight grip sharply. With trembling hands and tears streaming down her face, Elli clenched a fist over her mouth, lowering herself down to remove her underwear.

And he went behind her like he always did, dropping his pants to get what he wanted. Trent was the one in control here; he'd like to make that perfectly fucking clear.

* * *

Popuri is hysterical, and Rick remains miserably staring forward. Lillia stays silent throughout the whole thing in the front row of pews, wiping a few stray tears from her eyes with some tissues.

Karen was going to do the reading, but she needed to stay beside Rick during the mass, because without her there, he’d surely crumble. Ann had no desire to do so, so she asked Claire to take her place. Although it felt wrong, given that she didn’t know Rod, she agreed nonetheless.

Carter couldn’t have picked a more heart-breaking passage if he tried. After he's delivered most of the sermon about Rod's life, talking about his love for things like ice cream, football, and chicken farming, she gets up on the altar next to him with tremoring hands. This shaking is a mixture of understanding the pain that this family is facing, and not understanding all at the same time.

“The response is Lord, hear our prayer.” Her lower lip quivers. “A reading from the book of John. Glory to you, Oh Lord.” She makes a cross over her forehead, lips, and chest, watching as Gray and Saibara repeat the action in the second row of pews, the entire town doing the same as well. Even Kai does it, despite mostly practicing Judaism. “'Therefore you too have grief now; but I will see you again, and your heart will rejoice… and… and no one will take your joy… will take your joy away from you…'”

* * *

“That was a nice reading,” Gray tells her quietly. Claire stands beside him, watching the coffin get wheeled out through the back of the church. The cemetery is off to the side at the bottom of Mother’s Hill… a mountain that they took for granted two nights prior. She says nothing, and he frowns. “Talk to me, Claire.”

“This is why fathers are important,” she finally says slowly. Her eyes are glued to the casket, where a dead man will spend the rest of eternity in, decaying and becoming one with the earth as each day passes. “You gotta take it from someone who doesn’t have one, Gray. They leave behind a pain, an empty feeling in your heart… a legacy you never get to fulfill.” And she points with quaking hands to Rick, Popuri, and Lillia, huddling with tears as the rain starts pelting harder. The burial is next and... holy cow, watching dirt get thrown over the coffin as it lowers six feet under the ground will probably be an even harder thing to witness than just the wake itself. Gray squeezes her trembling hand distraughtly. “There’s a hole, an emptiness that moms just can’t fill, because that certain spot in your heart is specifically for a father. And it’s just one big 'Cat’s in the Cradle' prime example of how lost time can’t be regained, how lonely and eternal the whole thing is... and it’s just so freaking scary. You... you miss out-”

Claire shakes her head, feeling him hold onto her tight. “Please, forgive your dad, Gray,” she whispers. Has he even heard her? “Please, please, please. I don’t want to see this kind of unresolved pain happen to you and your family.”

And Saibara listens to these words, forcing himself to turn away, because in his eighty-one years of life, no one’s ever seen him cry. These statements hit hard; they apply to his lost wife, to his rehabilitated son, to his dead daughter-in-law all the same. And maybe his inability to show this kind of emotion is where his own injustices lie as a father.

* * *

“Hey,” Kai says, seating himself down next to Popuri. She sits by the beach, knees brought in to her chest as she stares out at the crashing waves before her. It's dark now, but the rain doesn't let up. The sky is merely drizzling, and she's gotten all sandy, but she doesn't care. It doesn't matter that she’s ruining her dress, or getting dirty, or going to likely become sick from all of this... because in the grand scheme of things, who gives a shit about any of that?

“Hi.”

“That was a nice service.”

“Ah-huh. I hated the burial, though.”

“… I’m sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye,” he murmurs.

She lets out a breathless, humourless, joyless laugh. And she's experiencing all of those feelings right now, too. “I can’t believe you were the one with him when he died.”

“I’m sorry,” is all Kai can manage to say again.

Popuri shakes her head. “I’m happy that it was you there. I’m happy he wasn’t totally alone.”

“He sure looks a lot like Rick,” says Kai.

“Yeah… he really does... well, did, sorry.” She lets out another noise, but this isn’t a laugh. It’s a sob. “My brother yelled at me this morning… said I needed to stop being sad over someone who was never there for me. And my mom snapped, but does he just want me to stay angry instead? Be forever bitter like him? Is that it?”

“He’s wrong. You got a right to feel whatever you’re feeling right now. No one's allowed to tell you otherwise.”

Popuri gingerly lays her head on his shoulder. She's soaked, like a stray cat left out in the unforgiving weather for too long. “I just wish that this wasn’t the way I was remembering my dad.”

“I know.” Tentatively, Kai takes her hand in his, tracing his thumb over her fingers. She turns her head to look at him in surprise, as though she's just now remembering who it is beside her, before pulling his face toward her own, kissing him deeply as the tears roll down her cheeks. Or, maybe it's just raindrops. Who knows?

He goes all wide-eyed, but quickly kisses her back, missing this feeling more than he can even describe. It’s almost torturous to have her retreating away as quickly as she found herself drawn toward him.

“Pope-”

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” she weeps.

He holds her close, hugging her and pressing his lips against the top of her pink head. “I don’t have to leave.”

“What?”

“I can stay here if you want… I can do whatever you want me to do.”

“You can’t do that for me.” Popuri begins crying some more, burying her head in her hands. “I’m so sorry for everything I said to you… for the bullshit I put you through this season. It wasn’t all on you, and I shouldn’t have blamed-”

“Pope.”

“I just can’t-”

“Listen,” says Kai gently. “Did you know… did you know I got a sister who passed away?”

“No," she whispers. "I didn’t... I didn't know that.”

“She suffocated with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck. I dunno if she even... took a breath outta this world.” He shakes his head. “In my mom's mind, she wanted to escape. Like, distract herself… visit the church that she grew up in in Ethiopia, spend time with her family there. But my father… well, in Jewish tradition, you’re not really supposed to do much of anything when you mourn. You don't shave, or cut your hair, or attend festivals, or book a trip, or… I mean, in a way, you're almost forced to confront the sadness head on, because there's not much else to really distract yourself with. So, apparently, both of my parents were torn on what they wanted to do… how they wanted to cope.”

“Which method worked?” Popuri asks quietly.

“I dunno what they went with. This was before my older brother was even born.” Kai gazes at her. “I… we… I mean, you can do whatever you want. Any way to grieve is the right way.” He rubs her skin. “And I'll stay with you through it... if you'll have me around."

She looks up at him as he wipes the tears from her eyes, and they hesitantly kiss again.

"I love you," Kai tells her. "And I'll forever love you. I'm so sorry, Popuri, for everything. I never-"

"I'm sorry for pushing you away. I shouldn't have... because you were always the only thing that I wanted. Every time." She presses her lips against his over and over, the feeling foreign but right, in every kind of way. "I love you, Kai."

"What do you wanna do?" he asks.

“I can’t be here,” she mumbles against his face. “Take me away. Take me with you. Please.”

* * *

Popuri returns home, drenched from the rain, freezing, and without any kind of a plan. Well, she's got an idea, but not a set plan. Will Zack be able to even bring them in his boat? He was just as inconsolable as she was during the funeral... she has to remind herself that he'd also lost his best friend during this whole process.

She stares at the chicken coop, which her mother has quietly entered. Hopping the fence, she steps into the structured barn with her, bracing herself for a difficult goodbye.

“New life,” Lillia says, gently patting a baby chick’s feathers. She turns to address her daughter's presence with a frown. “I saw you talking to Kai.”

“Mother-”

“You want to go with him, don’t you?” Lillia hands her the chick, its soft yellow feathers tickling her skin. Popuri bites her lip to keep from crying again, stroking the baby bird carefully.

“I don’t want to upset Rick… and I don’t want to leave you, but-”

Lillia nods. “I think that you should go.”

“What?”

“I’ll be fine, sweetie. I’ve been grieving your father’s loss… since he left years ago. I know this one is permanent… but it really doesn’t feel like much of anything has changed.” Her mother pauses. “I know what you and Kai have been through.”

“What?!” Popuri repeats, more loudly. She really didn't expect a conversation like this to transpire on the day of her father's funeral.

Lillia seats herself on the bench in their coop, shaking her head. “Kai does snore quite loudly, so the night of Ricky’s wedding… I heard him in your room, Popuri. And I saw the box of emergency contraception that you threw out.”

“Mother,” says Popuri worriedly. “I’m not-”

“I know you’re not pregnant. I’m just saying that I knew about this all along. Mothers just... know." She motions for her to sit beside her. "What I didn't understand was your reasoning behind pushing Kai away."

"'Cause I didn't have one," she murmurs. "I was being ridiculous."

"I knew that you still loved him.” Lillia smooths out her daughter's wet hair. “And I love him, too. He's good for you.”

“Rick doesn’t, though. He’ll never let me go with him.”

“That’s not up for him to decide. He isn’t the parent, even though he'd like to think that he is.” Lillia's tender, hazel eyes begin to soften. “Your father would have wanted this. And I want it for you, too.” She strokes her cheek, kissing it. “I love you very much, Popuri. You need to see the word, experience it for yourself... be happy.”

She places the baby chick down next to its hen mother, hugging her own mother tightly, crying into her shoulder. “I love you, too.”

“I'll help you get ready. Just promise to visit.” She smiles sadly. “And it’s not goodbye; it’s see you later.”

* * *

“Tonight? You’re leaving tonight?” Claire doesn't hide the apparent shock from her voice. She and Ann have brought over a lasagna that they made for Popuri’s family, expecting to return home with the empty tray; _not_ with news like this. Gray is with Kai back at the inn, likely learning about this newfound information as well. Karen thankfully keeps Rick busy, away from their home.

Popuri nods. “I just need some help packing.”

“Pope,” Ann says softly. “Is this a good-”

“I know that you think this is irrational, and maybe it is, but I need to do this." Popuri stops stuffing clothes into her luggage, rising to hug her childhood friend gratefully. She fights back the hot tears burning under her eyelids. "I've waited most of my life for my dad to come home… and it was all for nothing. I didn't even get to see him alive when he came back. I stayed here, ready for a long overdue reunion... and for what?” She turns to Claire, hugging her as well. "I love you both. I hope that you can understand."

The funny thing is, this is the most that Claire has ever connected with an idea in her whole life. She understands, because she felt the same way when she left for Mineral Town. Remaining in Boston was too painful, and staying in the convent made her question what she was even _living_ for. The move helped her feel so alive and free, got her to meet all of these amazing people... provided her with her own form of happiness that she curated herself.

So, she gets it. How could she ever not?

"Love you too, chicky," Claire says softly. "Write to us, okay? I'm seriously missing you already."

And Popuri stares at the two of them, smiling grandly. "Thank you." Her eyebrows draw in close, face contorting with worry, like she's afraid that her brother will burst into the room amidst her packing panic at any given moment.

"Don't worry," Ann assures her. "We'll figure out how to calm Rick down when he finds all of this out. And if we can't... I bet Karen will."

"I really hope so," Popuri says, packing the last of her garments. Her fingers close her luggage with one final zip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a sad chapter. I'm sorry :'( I've had this planned since the beginning... I much preferred writing the previous chapter though, don't get me wrong. But I decided to take on a different approach to this one, used past tense switched to present and took on more of a third person omniscient POV in some instances. Let me know what you thought of it in the end if you want :)


	30. The Poker Face

“My back hurts,” says Gray.

Nothing.

“My back really hurts,” he repeats.

She’s directly across from him, still looking down at her cards as she absently chews the inside of her cheek. Karen sits beside him, leaning on her elbows firmly to try and unsuccessfully peek at his cards. He covers them with his shoulder in annoyance. Normally, he's really good at games like these.

Not when he’s paired up with Claire, though.

It's Rick's turn to lift a card up from the deck. He scratches his nose, solemn hazel eyes glued to the new addition in his hand.

“Signal!” Karen calls, pointing and slamming down her cards. “Woooo!” Her husband drops his four identical ace of clubs on the table, flattening them out like a dealer in Las Vegas. Their fifth win is confirmed with the same stone-cold face that Rick's worn since the morning after his father's funeral.

The four of them are sitting at a table in the inn, having just come from Ann's mother's memorial mass. She told them to wait for her there so that she could deal with her blubbering father, and they've just been playing cards to overwrite the Rick-tension since.

Gray scowls, letting his matching queen of hearts fall out of his palms. “My back hurts… from _carrying this fucking team!_ JESUS, BLONDIE, THAT WAS THE SIGNAL.”

Claire stares at Rick's duplicated hand, then at Gray's, mouth agape. “What the heck? WHAT KIND OF A SIGNAL-”

“IT WAS A GOOD SIGNAL.”

“THAT WAS AWFUL!”

“HOW DID YOU NOT GET IT?” He groans. How's he supposed to feed his competitive ego when the two of them paired together can't communicate or win for shit? "I'm never partnering with you again.”

This is a lie. He's been saying this since the first round.

“Look, babe,” says Karen, reaching across the table to touch her husband’s arm. “We won! … Again. How 'bout it - six time's a charm?”

He says nothing though. He’s still got a poker face on, not because he refuses to show any emotion for the sake of the game, but because he’s pissed. Royally. Fucking. Pissed.

Gray isn’t going to entertain his bullshit attitude.

“How was I supposed to know that would be your discreet signal?” Claire mumbles, staring at her mismatched cards. She's got two six of clubs, a jack of diamonds... and a joker. You know, the one that's supposed to be discarded because you can't play with it? _Jesus._ They'd never stand a chance. “It’s not my fault!”

Leaning on the frame of his chair, Gray flips his hat backwards while crossing his arms. “It’s all your fault and you’re ruining my goddamn reputation.”

Rick scoffs, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses and merely _hmpf-ing_ in response to something that was never directed at him. “A lot of you don’t like to take responsibility in life, do you?” he finally mutters coldly.

An awkward silence ensues.

Gray glares. “What the fuck's that supposed to mean, Rick?”

“Stop,” Claire whispers nervously. She nudges him under the table with the tip of her worn-out white sneaker. Karen just looks down, swearing under her breath.

“I mean," he clarifies tightly. "That no one’s owned up to my sister going away yet.”

This statement is almost laughable to Gray. “Well, how's it any of our faults?”

“Mostly yours,” Rick says, sorting the strewn-about deck into a neater pile. His fingers are stiff, causing each card to bend in the middle when he grips them like this. It's Doug's deck, and if he sees any kind of creased damage, he's gonna be _pissed_. “Your friend’s the one who stole her.”

_What the hell._

“Jesus.” Karen scowls. “Do you even know how ridiculous you sound right now? Enough!”

“You’re part of this problem, _honey._ All of you are. You all knew, and none of you thought to lay me in on the details.”Rick casts a serious evil eye on them, a _vaskania_ as it's known in Greek dialect, but avoids his wife's face. If Gray's mom were here, she'd make him say one of those superficial prayers against the βασκανία. Hell, if Kai's dad were here, he'd throw them his collection of Hamsa amulets. Gray's not superstitious like that, but the possibility of someone casting malevolence over his mother before she got diagnosed has always lingered in his mind.

“We... look, I just think you need to calm down,” Claire says, clearly unnerved by his _if-looks-could-kill_ glare. She definitely believes in that shit. There's a look of guilt that stains her face; one that shouldn’t even be there in the first place.

“I got a big mouth, I get it, but when someone _confides_ in me... I'll promise to keep that a secret and take it to my fucking grave,” Karen snaps. “You know that, Rick.”

His eyes are glued on Gray, who refuses to back down. Sure, Rick's mildly peeved with his wife and Claire, but a good 95% of his anger is solely directed toward _Blacksmith Enemy Numero Uno_. Like he’s going to be intimidated by Rick. _Please._

“Take it up with your mom,” says Gray harshly. How is he to blame for any of this? The next words that he says are a jab too ruthless for a still-sore wound. “Or, maybe your sister.”

Rick's neck gets all red, the colour creeping up to his rounded jaw. “How? She’s not friggin’ here right now.”

“My God, build a fucking bridge,” groans Gray. How this loser scored someone like Karen is beyond him. “She wanted to go, so she left. This's got nothing to do with us. Or me, for that matter.” _Imagine if he even found out about the morning after pill fiasco._ Pfft.

“If any of you told me, I’d have stopped her,” Rick says angrily. His shaggy hair is falling into his eyes with each forceful word, but he makes no motion to brush the freed strands away. He looks like a deranged idiot.

“Rick.” Claire carefully sounds his name out, trudging carefully, like she's trying to get out of a landmine. “I'm sorry if this is gonna sound… rude, but-"

"If that's the case, why don't you save it and just shut your mouth, then, Claire?"

"Rick!" Karen exclaims. "You're being _such_ a jerkoff. Do not interrupt."

"And don't speak to her like that," warns Gray. _Where does he get off yelling at a girl like that?_

Claire shakes her head, tapping the pads of her fingertips on the table anxiously. If Rick's outburst bothered her, then she's mastered her own poker face of sorts. But she still makes sure to toss Gray a look to show that she's grateful. There's an unwritten agreement that the two of them have got each other's backs... y'know, as long as they're both not in the wrong or anything.

"I know you're hurting. Believe me, I understand." Claire sighs. "But _you_ have to understand something. Popuri isn't a baby, and you’re not in charge of her. It was _her_ choice. I'm sorry, but please… you can’t be mad forever.”

“Save it, Blondie. Quit walking on eggshells around him,” mutters Gray. She shouldn’t carry this bad feeling on her shoulders at all, because he sure as hell doesn’t. Rick turns to him abruptly. “Your sister left, she’s with Kai now, get the fuck over it.”

Rick's positively fuming. It's not as bad as bad as when the doctor lost it on Gray at the clinic, but it does possess that similar little-bitch energy.

“You know, ever since you moved from the city and brought that piece of shit with you, I knew, _I knew_ you didn’t belong,” he says. _Fuck this freak._ What the hell does he even know about belonging? He sticks out like a goddamn _Revenge of the Nerds_ sore thumb. “Why’d you have to even come here anyway?”

_Alright, fuck this._

“’Cause my mom finished her end of life care here, dipshit,” snaps Gray. Claire looks at Rick horrified, while Karen rubs her forehead, completely done and over this conversation.

“Play victim,” he grumbles.

“Rick! Holy cow, leave him alone!” Claire slams her hand on the table. Everyone widens their eyes at her. “You’re not the only one who’s lost someone before. And you have no right being in charge of Popuri’s life. Kai loves her and she loves him and you should be happy that she’s got something so special. He’s her rock just like Karen is yours. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

Karen waves her hand flippantly. “You’re solid, kid.”

Claire unfurrows her brow. She stares at Gray, who’s leaning back in his chair, all pissed off. But, he’s secretly thankful for her words, even if he'll never admit it. He doesn't need her fighting his battles, but it's nice having someone standing by you... _especially ‘cause I’m not wrong._ “Rick... I know you miss Popuri. And I know you think that we wanted to just hide it all from you. But we were respecting her wishes of privacy... because we knew- _she_ knew- how you’d react. I'm so sorry. I really wish that things could be different.”

Karen sighs. “I'm sorry, babe, but if even your mother allowed it… then you need to accept it.”

Rick glowers at the two of them, before shifting his eyes irritably toward Gray. “You’re not even the least bit sorry.”

“Nope.”

The two girls groan. _“Gray.”_

“I’m _not_ sorry." His palm runs through the rough stubble on his face. He hasn't shaved in days. "You aren’t even pissed about the fact that she didn’t say goodbye; you’re pissed that you can’t control her anymore. Why don't you focus on the fact that maybe if you weren’t such an overprotective shit, she’d be able to face you. Those two are lucky to have each other, so you'd better learn to get the fuck over it.”

Rick grinds his teeth _loudly_ , so much so that Gray wonders if he cracked a molar or something. He rises from his seat heatedly, while Karen tries to stop him by tugging at the hemline of his green shirt. Gray gets up too, despite Claire’s pleading eyes that silently tell him to sit the hell back down.

“You should have never moved here,” says Rick, voice wavering. He can be such a little bitch sometimes, honestly. If the guy can’t argue without shaking, then Gray figures that he shouldn’t be arguing at all. It's just embarrassing at this point. _What a goddamn pussy._ “Neither you _or_ Kai. Why don’t you make like him and just go the fuck back home?”

“Home to where exactly, prick.”

“Back to whatever rough-ass neighbourhood you two crawled out of.”

“Rick, why don’t you fuck off before I hurt you.”

The girls look like they’re bugging out. “Both of you, _enough_!!” 

Rick gets all up in his face, spitting with each syllable of his words. They’re the same height - actually, he’s a little bit taller than Gray, but _Jesus, what a whiny fucking twat he is_. “You belong in the South Side with Kai, not here, tainting our home, dragging my little sister into that shit.”

"Just go fuck yourself, I bet you'd like that."

Excuse Gray for not growing up off the coast of Delaware in a shitty, unincorporated little town where people dedicated festivals to ranking who owned the best sheep. He really isn't even making any of this up; Mineral Town is the boonies. Chicago triumphs in every way possible. Fuck, _any_ where else is better than here. _Literally anywhere._

His fist clenches next to him, the rough callouses on his fingers curling together, indented against each other. He's ready to take a swing at Rick, but the sight of those urchin scars cause an imminent pain to sear through Gray's hand. He winces, hiding it well with his own poker face, but Rick just storms off abruptly.

Karen sighs, mouthing a _sorry_ to the both of them as she begrudgingly turns to leave, but her husband whips his head around. “I need to be alone, Kare.”

She retreats back, narrowing her eyes and fuming. Slamming back in her chair, she waves her hand at him. “Yeah, what the fuck ever.”

And the door bangs shut, its vibration bleeding throughout the entirety of the inn.

“Don’t listen to him,” Claire says, wrapping her fingers around Gray's arm to give it a squeeze. He stays silent, leaning against her side of the table as he stares out the front door. “You do belong here.”

A puzzle piece that's just being jammed, forced into a constraint that it was never supposed to fit in... isn’t this essentially Gray rolled up into a nutshell?

“I don’t give a shit about that,” he tells her.

Claire just hugs her hand between his, eyes so earnest and sincere. No, seriously, what the hell would he _ever_ do without her? “I mean it,” she says firmly. “He’s going through it right now, but it doesn’t give him the right to say that. And it also doesn’t mean that what he said was true. Please don’t ever think that.”

But Gray is well aware that he doesn’t belong here. He was never _meant_ to fit in with these middle-of-the-road, boring, countryside assholes. The city is his home, and while he’s not dying to go back or anything, he can’t pretend like he's homogenous to the residents here in Mineral Town. He was a piranha the second that he arrived, despite having a family member to associate with. It also didn’t help that he fought tooth and nail with every individual that got near him, slept his way out of his problems, or spoke in that rough, Midwestern dialect of his.

It's not even like him, Kai, or either of their families are from a bad part of Chicago. They didn’t struggle; they were regular, middle class people.

“I also moved here from the city, so I dunno why it's only a problem when it's involving you and Kai," Claire says in disbelief. "And you aren’t even from the South Side.”

How she remembers this shit, Gray doesn't know.

Karen’s eyes stay fixed on the door even as she’s speaking to them, like she’s stuck in a trance. Her voice pipes up feebly. “Where’re you both from, again?”

“Bridgeport. It’s central,” Gray tells her. He grabs his hat from the table, toying with the front of the cap as he turns to Claire. “ _You’re_ from a rougher neighbourhood than where I grew up.”

How he remembers this shit is also a mystery.

“Dorchester,” she explains, shaking her head. “So it's not fair that Rick's only singling out you two.”

Karen gives a small smile, finally looking the both of them up and down. “You guys have some pretty funny accents, now that I think about it.”

“'Cause you guys all sound so goddamn boring here," says Gray.

"That’s what it is," Claire agrees with a grin.

Karen skates her manicured nails through her hair inattentively. “Look, I’m not even gonna pretend to apologize on Rick's behalf. It's gotta be from him. But Gray, you ougtha relax too. You can't just threaten to deck people in the face 'cause you're pissed.”

"Watch me."

"You got some _reeeal_ anger issues, my friend."

"And what about your pussy husband?"

Karen's eyes flash. "Don't-"

The door drags open, with Ann slowly making her way inside. She smiles over at them, shimmying her arms out of the army patch jacket that she's wearing. And it gets hung up... right in the damn coat check closet. Jesus.

“Hi, guys,” she says softly.

“How’re you feeling?” asks Karen, tilting her head. “Carter did a good job with the mass.”

“Yeah. He did. He always does.”

Claire frowns. “Do you wanna talk?”

Ann shakes her head, removing the elastic that keeps the end of her braid secured. She tugs out the interweaved, russeted locks, loosening them all up. On her is a crisp polo top, and a pleated skirt that Claire lent her. “Nope. Rather get my mind off of this shit instead.”

Cliff must be still sitting with her dad on Mother’s Hill. Maybe he's just trying to win brownie points with him, or he's just dealing with his own shit as well. Regardless, Doug tends to spend his entire day there on the anniversary of his wife's death, just watching. Reminiscing.

Karen nods. “Well, you just missed a real shitshow.”

Ann’s eyebrows raise. “Huh, is that why I saw Rick storming down the road?”

“Has he spoken to you yet?” asks Claire with a sigh.

“Hasn’t even showed his face here since the end of the summer. And it’s fall now.” Ann stares at a silent Gray. “What happened?”

“Jagoff over there’s pissed. I’m not sorry that Popuri’s gone.”

“Well, shit,” says Ann. “Neither am I.”

Karen shrugs. “I’m his wife and I’m not sorry.”

Claire agrees slowly. “I’m just sorry that she felt like she couldn’t go to him.” She chews on the inside of her cheek again. “I know that losing his dad must have been so hard and all, but he shouldn’t be speaking to people like that.”

“He won’t even sleep in our bed anymore.” In her Karen-way of trying to lighten the mood, she punches Gray’s arm. He knows that she'd probably like to hit him harder, though. “I’ll bet I get as much as you right now.”

He just rolls his eyes at her, dropping his hat on the table once again.

Ann laughs. “I love that Gray gets all of those comments, and not Claire.”

“Well, that's ’cause Claire gets at least _some_ , right?”

Gray serves Karen with some major cut-eye (she’s clearly still peeved at him for threatening to beat up her husband, which means that her extreme no-filter sirens are going off), but Claire just stands up, her eyes softening toward him. He turns to make a face at her, because he's not some punk bitch that can't take shit, but she just throws her arms around him: a silent reminder that she is, and will always, be there for him.

"What he said isn't true," she repeats soundly. "I promise."

A brief moment passes. It's silent, and her breasts are pressing against his chest, and the sweet smell of her lingers as it intoxicates his nostrils, and at this time, there's only her. He's not supposed to let this image enter his mind, but Gray can't help wonder if Claire's got herself wound against Trent's body at night, with little to no articles of clothing in between them. If they've even done anything, if he tells her that he prefers it raw, if he's bothered to try and get her to come. Why would Karen say something so stupid, or buy her that supposed racy underwear, if there isn't a smidge of truth to her statement?

Claire’s even been talking about that fucker’s birthday coming up. Doesn’t she know what 90% of guys expect from their girlfriends on their birthdays? Jesus.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers. “Let’s just watch something funny at my house. I’ll tell Trent that I can’t make it tonight. He’ll totally understand.”

She’ll do that for him? Gray stares.

_Well, it’s not like that shithead's felt bad about cancelling on her before._

Claire's waterblue eyes always tell more than what she'll verbally reveal. His mother used to say that his were like that too, but lately, they're cold and empty: a physical manifestation of everything that he is inside. But right now, hers in front of him are worrisome oceans, crashing beneath the deep limbal rings of her irises.

And he just fucking needs her.

Gray nods, with Ann peace-ing them out as she and Karen are mid-discussion in something. He and Claire walk out, his hat a forgotten entity on the table.

* * *

“Where’d they go?” Rick mutters after returning. He's dug his hands into his pockets, staring at Gray's discarded cap in front of him.

“You’re talking to me now?” Ann muses, French braiding a lock of Karen's hair.

“I came to your mother’s service today, didn’t I?”

“It wasn’t a favour, it’s for respect. Next time, I don’t need your negativity there, thank you very much.” Ann unconsciously starts tightening her fingers against the highlighted tresses of Karen's hair more forcefully now.

“Uhh, hello? My _scalp!"_

"Beauty is pain," she says.

Karen's brows look like they're being forced up as Ann intensifies the braid. In her seat, she narrows her eyes at Rick. "You’re a real jackass sometimes,” she snaps, not even bothering to give him a second. “You are _not_ the only one-”

“Karen, it’s a fucking double loss. What don't you get?” Rick flings himself into the seat across from her, head in his hands. “I lost my dad, and now I lost my sister too.”

Ann watches as they have this strictly-for-closed-doors fight right in front of her. “Um, I’m gonna g-”

Well, she's gotta finish the braid.

Okay, and she's also invested now.

“Popuri’s old enough to leave and you’re gonna have to get over it. And you’re gonna go to Gray, give his hat back, and apologize. _And,_ you're gonna stop being a douchenozzle. He was there for you when your dad died, and you take a cheap shot about his mom?" Karen scoffs. "You know damn well why he came here; that was just fuckin' cruel. Who the hell did I marry?”

“You’re mad because I don’t wanna try for a baby.”

Ann draws in a sharp breath. Yeah, maybe she should leave.

"We're not talking about that right now.”

“Way to dodge it. I’m not fucking stupid, y'know.”

Karen just shakes her head in disbelief, and gives him an _oh really?_ type of look.

_It's like that Atari Pong game... ball gets served to one player, and it keeps shooting right back._

“He died from what you had, Kare.”

Karen frowns, quickly glancing at Ann as though she's forgotten that she's there. Her hands freeze mid braid-twist. “What?”

“You both had an appendicitis. My dad... and you, all of those years ago. You could have died just the same way he did. And, if I lost you too…” Rick stares at her, grabbing her slender hand. “I’m sorry, hon. I'm sorry for being an asshole. I know I’m lashing out at you for Popuri leaving, I'm just not happy right now. And I know that I can’t give you what you want.”

“I want my husband to know that I’m not against him. That I love him,” she murmurs. “And I get it. I'm so sorry about your father. I'm sorry that you miss Popuri. But I love her too, and she did what was best for her.” She turns to Ann, who's secured a hair tie in her braid timidly. “Shit, you’re _still_ here?”

Ann shrugs. “Guess so.” She frowns over at Rick, crossing her skinny arms over her body. “Please don’t be mad. I've known you both my whole life, and I love you guys. C’mon. Take it from me, it's all gonna be okay.”

Rick nods, as he and Karen rise up from their chairs to embrace. She buries her head in her husband's collar, reaching over to touch Ann's shoulder. When he pulls backward, his brow quickly furrows, as though contemplating how he's going to re-word this next bit. “Didja see how hard she came at my throat?”

"Who, Claire?" Karen arches her brow. “Well, she cares a lot about Gray.”

“Are they fucking or something?”

Ann looks over at him wildly. “She’s with Trent, remember?!"

Rick makes a face. "Shit, right."

"Plus, _they_ aren’t even.”

"Oh, c'mon. Don't pull my leg."

"No! For real."

Rick looks dubious, but nods like he agrees. "Sometimes I forget, 'cause like, Gray'll just be looking at her, and... I mean, you'd think..."

His voice trails off. No one says anything. He finally gets up, and kisses his wife. "I'm gonna go home and start dinner for us."

Karen kisses him back, hand prodding her hip as she frowns. "I can tonight, y'know. My treat."

"Your cooking is so not a treat," says Ann with a wink.

Rick just shakes his head, giving a tiny smile. "I got it. Don't worry."

Karen sits back down on the table after he's left. “Sorry you had to see that."

"It's whatever," says Ann, taking the seat across from her. "Let's just talk about something else."

Karen leans forward on her elbows with newfound wicked eyes. "Okay, this is weird, this is gonna sound _sooo_ weird, but like, you're my bitch, and I trust you, so I guess I'll tell you. I had this _dream_ the other night, where I accidentally walked in on Gray and Claire fuc-”

Ann makes a face. “Oh, my God, Kare! What's wrong with you? You are so _weird!!”_

“Well, it's not like I control that shit.”

"You control _telling me,_ though!"

"Oh, _c'mon_. Like we're not all rooting for it to happen _eventually_."

"Yeah, but not to actually witness." Ann just giggles. “Was it hot, at least?”

“It was strange 'cause I couldn't like... see them, see them, but I knew it was them. And yeah, they seemed to be having a good old time." Karen laughs. "You fucked him. Was _it_ hot?”

She sucks up a breath. “Yeah, it was. It was _always_ hot.”

"Hotter than-"

"Alright, Imma stop you right there, 'cause I know exactly what you're gonna say next. I know you _all too well."_ Ann rolls her baby blue eyes. "Cliff _and I haven't yet._ So there's no juicy details, and I'd never make comparisons regarding that. _Likewise,_ I don't wanna hear about _your_ sex life."

"My lack of a sex life," Karen corrects. “As a result of this, I took out some erotica at the library-"

"Aaand we're already beginning to break my stipulations."

"Anyway, back to my dream. I think what I'm reading like, influenced it? But basically, in the dream, I caught them, and I was like, a writer or something? And I wrote a little... prose, based on them doing the deed. Like, I changed their names and stuff, but it was based off of what I walked in on." Karen snickers loudly, leaning back in her seat while clutching her stomach. "Like, what the _hell_ kinda dream was that? I can't get off to people I _know_."

A shocked Ann is in stitches beside her. "Please, God, stop! And get real for a minute here. I dunno if _anyone_ would be ready to like... see a sex scene with them."

 _"You never know what the people might want,"_ Karen singsongs, smirking.

"And how would you even describe it? _Naïve virgin meets huge dick_ in the tagline of the story?”

Isn’t that pun essentially how this whole thing began?

* * *

“I can’t believe how chilly it is,” Claire comments, trembling in her long sleeved shirt. Even her leggings aren't thick enough, the frosty air nipping at her lower half with each quick step that she takes.

Gray shrugs. He’s in shorts right now, because... he's totally insane? They’re approaching her farm, after having already done about ten laps, but he doesn’t appear to be freezing at all. It may be because he's a self-proclaimed cold mofo, or that he's just keeping up with his front. “Not too chilly if you run quick enough.”

Claire points to her shivering dog in between them as they run. “Even Maggie’s cold.”

He stays silent, his muscular calves propelling each stride forward aggressively. He's got a storm of emotion painted beneath his poker face; she just knows it. Claire runs faster to keep up with him, tilting her head and frowning. “Gray.”

“Mhm.”

“Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I’m a little busy right now, Blondie.”

“Tell me!” She tugs on the sleeve of his jacket with her hand that isn't clutching Maggie's leash, gaze boring into his. This merely occurs for less than a millisecond before he looks away. “Is it about what Rick said last week?”

He snaps his jaw forward, running even more swiftly, like he’s trying to get away from her or his problems. Probably both. “No.”

Again, she speedily runs faster, trying her best to keep ahead of him. Her thigh is healed at this point, thanks to all of the careful TLC she gave it, but it's throbbing beneath the constraint of her leggings. “You can tell me. It’s okay to feel sad.”

“I’m not fucking sad.”

“Gray.” Claire says it softly, her voice getting carried away with the wind. She stops in her tracks, the cold autumn breeze picking up and biting at the exposed skin on her face. Adjusting her red beanie, she wonders what the heck ever happened to summer. Moments of her lying on the hot sand with saltwater coating her skin begin to flood her mind. “You know that I’m glad you moved here. And I’m glad that _I_ moved here and met you. I really wouldn’t want it any other way.”

His shoulders slump for a brief moment, but as though he’s not about let his guard down, he straightens his posture, halting his run to a steady-stop at the entrance of her farm. Walking toward her while they're both breathing heavily, Gray takes her wrists and positions them out. His grip is coarse against hers, but he’s taken a step back, his own fighting stance apparent. “Don’t get sappy.”

Claire drops her hands, releasing Maggie's leash and frowning. Her dog starts running wildly around her property. “Focus.”

“ _You_ gotta focus. I can talk and do at the same time. If you’re not a multi-tasker, then that’s your problem.”

She sighs, caving and going back into this early-morning routine that she’s come to know. Gray tries to grip her wrist, this time, in feigned attack mode, but she blocks it quickly and drives her arm out. This lands a blow near his sternum. She realizes it’s a mistake the second that she does it, because he grips her enclosed fist.

“Why’re you aiming for my chest?”

“I-I forgot. I’m not focusing properly.”

“Well, then start to focus.”

He’s acting like such a jerk. She’s just trying to help, trying to get him to face his problems, and he’s being so distant toward her. Claire glares, moving her hips back to avoid him as she pushes her palm out.

“Okay, keep going,” says Gray.

If he’s ever going to “strike" her back, he does it slightly. Almost like a weak sort of proposition. She manages to block his "attacks" most of the time, but he'll never go hard on her the way that he instructs her to do for him. Gray's moves come out more like a suggestion, yet he'll encourage her to go as hard as she can when facing him. He says that even at her most forceful, she'll never injure him. Like he's some big tough guy that's incapable of getting hurt. As if.

“Talk to me,” Claire says. “Why won’t you even look at me? What did I do?”

“You did nothing.” Gray eventually meets her eyes for more than a few seconds, and she finally sees all of the hurt plastered in them. _He’s upset._ She freaking knew it! He averts his gaze back to his hands, effectively pinning Claire against the side of her house sporadically. Poker face = back on.

Claire looks up at him in surprise. She tries to wiggle out, driving her left elbow into him, which effectively releases her on that side. Her other hand is still in his tight grasp, but her free fingers just reach over to squeeze his arm gently. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

Gray stares at her like the opposite of this is true. But he just takes this opportunity to pin her back against the frame of the house, staring down at her darkly.

“Gray.”

“Do you see how easy I did that ‘cause you’re distracted? You need to keep training, Blondie.”

His grip is too tight. Does he even realize it? “Gray-”

He swallows, still staring down at her. It looks like he's got to say more, like he _wants_ to say more. “I’m serious... this shit is important. I don’t w-”

“Gray, you’re being really rough right now. Please, just-”

His icy eyes widen, releasing her from his grasp immediately, like she's on fire or something. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s okay,” Claire tells him, rubbing her wrist. He backs away slowly, and she just stares down at the surprising trail of blood on her skin.

Now, he looks like he’s just about to fall to the floor and pass out. His face immediately pales, large frame swaying. “Holy fuck. Jesus, Blondie, I didn’t think my nails got you. I-”

She stares at him, perplexed. He didn’t hurt her, he was rough and his grasp was snug, but he didn’t _hurt_ her. She would have scratch marks drawing blood if that were the case.

Gray's open palm on his right hand catches her eye. She snatches it closer to her, reeling when she realizes what's going on here. Claire pushes at his chest. “The blood’s from _you._ You haven’t been taking care of your urchin stings, have you?!”

He freezes, then scowls, squinting at her. “Here we go. Are you about to piss me off?”

Claire groans in exasperation. “You’re always like, ‘you need to do this for yourself. You need to take care of yourself.’ Why don’t you ever take a piece of your own freaking advice?!”

He retreats his bloodied hand pack, shoving it in his pocket. “Worry about yourself. Not me. I’m fine.”

“You’re such a stubborn... dumbass sometimes, Gray! You are so _not_ fine." She clutches his arm, leading him toward her front door as Maggie trots along after them. “Inside, _now,_ so I can wrap that up.”

He jerks away from her. “Forget it, Blondie. Don’t make me tell you where to go.”

But she desperately looks at him, her eyes pleading with him silently. And he just scowls and caves like always.

* * *

“You won’t let me take you to the clinic? You’re seriously this pigheaded?”

“Guess so.”

“Y'know what? You are just so exhausting, Gray.”

“This is coming from the world’s biggest ballbuster.”

"As if." Claire shoots him a glare before rubbing some Polysporin over his cracked, open wounds. She uses a cotton swab to do so, gently gliding over his cuts. The fact that he works with his hands, and already has callouses which invade his rough skin definitely are not aiding in the healing process. “Okay, um, I don’t think it’s infected. Trent said that when the colour is still flushed red, like yours, it means, uh...”

“As if I’d trust what he’d say.”

“I’m just telling you what he taught me.”

“You guys get all medical with each other? That’s hot.”

“Like I said: exhausting.” Claire clenches her jaw. “Can we at least go to Elli?”

“Whatever, Blondie. I’ll just start doing those stupid salt soaks.”

“Well, maybe you shoulda done them sooner. I can’t believe you. I can’t believe you won’t take care of _yourself_ , yet you expect _me_ to-”

“Well, you matter a lot more than I do.”

She just drops his hand angrily, reaching for the unwrapped gauze on her table. Her heart hurts. “I cannot believe you.”

“Believe it, baby,” he deadpans.

“Why would you _ever_ say something so stupid? Don’t you know how much you matter to people?”

Gray gives her a humourless chuckle. “Who, Blondie? Let’s hear the list.”

Claire sticks her thumb out to begin counting. “Your grandfather, for starters.”

“Told me to fuck right on off this morning and go back to Chicago. Try again.”

“He didn’t mean that.”

“His life got uprooted when he had to take me on." Gray stares at her in disbelief. "What don’t you get? If I went home, that weight’d be lifted off his shoulders.”

Claire pulls the inside of her cheek between her top and bottom teeth. “That's not true."

"It is true," he says levelly.

"Kai, then."

“Ah, yes. Let’s just recount the fact that he isn’t here right now, and we don’t even know where the fuck him and Pope ran off to exactly. They failed to mention this.”

“That's... well, he still cares. How about your father?”

“Stuck in rehab ‘cause he keeps relapsing. And he picked that shit over me.”

“Your… uncle?”

Gray scowls. “You keep listing people that aren’t fucking present, or that you don’t even know.”

“Okay, well, there's Ann.”

“Yeah, I was just good for my dick-”

“Would you stop it? She didn’t just see you as a way to… and you didn’t see her… ugh, look, you’re both friends and she does care about you.”

“Your list is pathetic," he says. "Rick’s right.”

Claire lets out a breath, nodding slowly. “I knew it. I knew you were still thinking about what he said.” She reaches for the gauze, taking his damaged hand again, as she winds it over and around the skin. “Gray, what about me?”

“What about you?”

“You matter to me. Your friendship… you _being_ here matters so much to me.”

He stares at her.

She presses her lips together, squeezing his hand once again. “Just... you have to believe me. You matter to all of those people, myself included. Please don’t think that you don’t. Don’t ever forget that.”

It's silent for a good few minutes afterward, with the exception of Maggie snoring and the morning wind whistling outside.

“I'm not tryna be dramatic, but sometimes... I genuinely believe that everyone would be better off,” he finally says. 

Claire shakes her head. “You’re not allowed to say that.”

“But, it’s true. Like, if I didn’t exist-”

“Well, who’d I argue with, then?” She offers Gray a smile, but he keeps his poker face on, stays stoney and cold. His head is void of any hat, rusted, shaggy hair falling into his light eyes. “You’re not allowed to say that my life is worth more than yours. Because it’s not.”

“You’re better than I’ll ever be, Claire.”

“I’m not, though.” She rests his injured hand on the table, taking his other one between her own palms. “I let you down a lot, I make you mad, and I can honestly be such a crap friend. I'm so sorry for that.”

“Would you stop? None of that's true.”

“Well, then why do you-?”

“’Cause I’m a shit person.”

“But you’re not!” Claire says. “You’re like, my favourite person ever." She smiles at him again, but the look on his face is so despondent. "I dunno what I’d do without you here. You’re my best friend, Gray.” She takes in a breath. “Rick’s in his own place of hurt. It’s… kinda like you, except he’s lashing out on anyone who helped Popuri go.” Releasing his hand, she draws her knees up on the chair toward her chest. “Please don’t listen to him right now.”

Gray just stays silent.

“What’s on your mind?” she prods.

“I dunno if I could ever go back to Chicago,” he says. "Sorry, that's just... that’s the first thing that popped into my head."

“It's okay. Why do you say that, though?”

“Like, I grew up there… I felt at home there. But, it'll just be too painful to go back, y’know?”

She nods.

"Too many memories there... too many things that remind me of her." Gray's other hand traces over the gauze.

“You must miss her so much,” Claire says softly. “I don’t think that you’ve healed at all.”

“I-” He stops himself, like there's no point in arguing. “I haven’t. My dad sure hasn’t.”

“Ann told me how she handles it. Like, it comes in waves, ‘cause she didn’t know her mom, so there’s not any memories to miss, but-” Claire pauses. “You have so much to miss.”

“How do you handle it?” he asks.

“I dunno, Gray. I pray a lot. And you obviously don't have to do that. It's just that every time I go to church, I think of her.” She smiles gently. “I like being reminded of her in little things that I do. I think I’m gonna ask Carter if he’ll do a mass in her memory when the anniversary of her death comes in the winter… I feel like would kinda be nice."

Gray hangs his head low. “We never did that.”

“You didn’t?”

“Like… we did a wake and a funeral, obviously. But we haven't done any memorial service for her since. And I dunno why. I should have initiated it." He pauses. "She was Orthodox, and my cousin Flo told me that in Greek tradition, you bury the person with white flowers. And I mean, we did this for her... but that's all.”

“I didn’t know that." Claire smiles. "Sounds nice.”

“Yeah. That's like, the only thing I remember about the funeral. Just... those white flowers, amidst all the black. Fuck... I was so high during it.”

Her eyes widen for a moment, but she just nods, not meaning to pass any judgement. “You were hurting. Was it coke?”

“What the hell? _No._ Can you imagine? I'd have been bouncing off the fuckin' walls." Gray lets out a low chuckle. "No, it was like an opiate or something… Elli gave it to me. And I felt better for a second.”

She nods again. “Then your dad-”

“Took off. It was fucked, Blondie.” Gray swears. “Sometimes, I feel like I'm not doing anything to keep who my mom was alive. I don't want her to be forgotten, but here I am, doing jack shit, not making her proud of who I am, and pretty soon it's gonna be all my fault, if… fuck, this sounds dumb, but if her memory dies.”

"That’s not gonna happen, nothing like that is your fault, and she _would_ be proud," Claire tells him.

He looks at her dubiously, tucking his chair back. "You don't know half the shit I've done."

"Well, at least it wasn't coke," she says.

Gray chuckles again. "No, it was coke. Just, not at the funeral."

 _Oh._ “Talk about her. What was she like?”

“Snarky... but caring," Gray finally decides. "Really selfless.”

Claire grins. “Like you. What about your dad?”

“A fuckin’ goof.”

"Also similar to you."

"I'm tellin' you, if you met my dad, you'd..." He just shrugs, giving her a half-smile. “How ‘bout your mom?”

“Funny. She was super hilarious.”

"If only you were funny, Blondie."

She just laughs, tossing some unused, wrapped gauze at his head, an idea slowly spreading across her brain.

* * *

“What the hell?” Gray steps into Claire’s house as she opens the door for him, frowning while clutching her hammer in his fist. It's aromatic in her home, moreso than it usually is; like she's just finished baking something in her oven. “My grandfather said to just drop this off 'cause you'd still be at church.”

"I got home from mass early." Claire grins, taking the hammer from him. She’s wearing a long sleeved black turtleneck with a red plaid skirt, legs bare with the exception of some white socks that she's got on. Her hair is sleek like glass, spilling loosely down her back, with her bangs side-swept across her forehead. She looks good; this is to be expected, obviously, because she _always_ looks good, but there's something about this fall outfit that makes her look better than good.

_Nope. Stop right there. You're not allowed to think beyond that._

“I just thought…" Claire rubs at her clothed arm, looking up at him. "You seemed so down on yourself, lately.”

He waves his hand in front of him like he's presenting something. “It’s called _depression_.”

“Gray, you're always doing nice stuff for me.” She smiles, leading him over to her kitchen. “I figured I'd surprise you, 'cause I totally owe you one. Check it out.”

“Ta-da!" Claire exclaims, pointing to her counter. There's a steaming hot pie plate, and in it, a golden crusted, thick, red... "Chicago deep dish pizza!!" She claps excitedly. "It took me like… _four_ tries to get the dough right, but I think I managed.”

He just stares at it. He hasn't had one... hasn't even seen one since well over two years ago.

She rummages through her drawer, humming to herself as she reaches for a silver pie server. “So, you guys in Chicago are totally weird… it's a thick crust pizza, but it like, concaves. So, you first have to layer it with cheese, _then_ you put the sauce on. It's so strange, but, the real trick is-” She frowns, walking over to him, as she unsuccessfully uses her sleeve to wipe some stray flour on her cheek away. “Gray, what’s wrong? Did I mess it up?”

 _Did she mess it up._ She took all of the care, completed all of the steps for him, to make it perfect. _Fuck, she's perfect._

Gray’s made it crystal clear that he doesn’t want to get married. He’s half convinced that the only reason his dad proposed to his mom is because he accidentally knocked her up when they were both in their early twenties, and they just happened to end up really clicking. His Uncle Kurt, a previous supposed playboy, simply prefers living with his long time girlfriend, Dia, because he doesn't need some piece of paper validating their relationship. Hell, his grandfather got married, and that didn't stop his grandmother from walking out. Marriage isn't the be all, or end all. It's a goddamn sham.

But, seeing Claire with such hopeful eyes in front of him, with flour smeared on her face, with the delicious scent that elicits from her kitchen throughout the house, fuck, he wouldn’t mind coming home to this everyday. He wouldn't mind at all having the ability to call her his wife, to craft her a ring that represents his bond. She’s got him all going all soft, but it’s true.

So he takes a step closer to her.

Takes the spatula out of her hands, looks down at her, swallows thickly.

“I don’t say this enough,” he mumbles, tone hoarse like gravel. “And I know we get under each other's skin, and I know we don't ever agree on shit. But... but I’m lucky to have you in my life, Blondie. I mean it, 'cause I really am... Thank you.”

He chickenshitted out. He fucking... he could have... he was _so_ close to just letting her know how he feels, he-

"Well, I'm lucky too." Claire throws her arms around him for a hug as she braces herself for more to say. "And, okay, before I forget, I went to church to ask Carter if he could do a service for your mom. I'm sorry, I know it's not my business, and I know we didn't get a chance to do one in the summer for the second anniversary of her passing, but he said that he could, to make up for missing it, and then he'll do it every year after that. But, it's only if you want!" She pulls backward to view his unreadable expression. "Oh, and get this! Carter knows some Greek, 'cause he studied in Cyprus when he was younger, and he remembers some prayers. How cool!"

She's too good, there's no way. Who... who just does that? Who takes into consideration a dead woman that she never even knew, for his sake?

"You didn't have to do that," is all Gray can say. He doesn't mean for his tone to sound so flat. He's just... at a loss for words. Thankful doesn't even begin to describe what he's feeling.

"I dunno if you'd think that I was overstepping by doing that," Claire says quietly. "'Cause I know you're not religious. But, I mean, after hearing what you said... I wouldn't want you to feel like she's being forgotten. And you obviously don't have to agree to the service, but-"

"It's not for me. It's for her. She deserves to be remembered." Gray swallows the lump back in his throat again. "... Thanks. I really appreciate you doing that."

He'll sacrifice church one day for his mom... knowing this would have made her so happy. And he'd never have had it in him to ask Carter for that.

"Please, _please_ know that I'm always here for you," Claire says.

There is constantly an overwhelming reminder in the back of his brain regarding how good she is. She's just... a good person, with good grace and a good soul. Kind, stubborn, and caring... overall, there's just not a bad bone in her body. She baked him a Chi-Town classic, told her boyfriend that she'd be busy tonight, approached Carter to create a mass in his mother’s honour... she's there for her friends- she's got a good heart.

And he’s convinced himself that he doesn't even have one of those.

"Even if I'm kind of a ballbuster," Claire adds, driving the pie cutter into the buttery crust. She keeps her eyes concentrated on maintaining the shape, mouth twisted in concentration.

"Kind of?" Gray repeats, grabbing a plate. The two of them are just leaning over the countertop, an accidental re-enactment of how his family used to eat pizza over their kitchen island in the city. When his dad would come home with a box of deep dish that they'd cut and serve, the cheese stretching and the sauce fragrant. Claire's managed to make it so much better than he actually remembers.

"But _you're_ not, right?" she says coyly, serving a slice on his plate.

"Not what?"

"Not a ballbuster."

"Mm, nope."

She rolls her eyes, biting into her own thick slice while covering her mouth. "Get real. Do you want something to drink?"

Maybe the problem is that she's just _too_ good, and he's the exact opposite. Not only in a morality sense of the word, because yeah, he's an asshole, but in the sense that he doesn't deserve her. With Trent, it's kind of like a given- that twat shouldn't even be allowed to come within three feet of Claire, but Gray is too tainted. He's not good _enough_ for her.

"Do you have _any_ booze at all?" he asks, trying to brush these thoughts away.

She makes a face. "Umm... a bottle of wine. That's it."

He doesn’t like wine; it's for pretentious people that think tasting expensive variations of fermented grapes exclude them from being labelled as alcoholics. But he'd really like any kind of booze right about now. "Fine. By the way, this pizza is fucking fantastic. You did it perfectly."

Claire smiles as she pours him a glass. "You're living it large. Wine and somewhat bread."

"It's just like church, then." Gray chuckles, drinking it back. "You're not gonna have any?"

"Nah." She turns around, reaching for a glass in her cupboard, getting on her tippy toes. The skin on the backs of her thighs is taut and slender as she stretches out to make herself taller.

Gray is also terrible for thinking some of the stuff that enters his mind. He always pushes these thoughts aside, which arguably just manifests them in his dreams and makes things a hundred times worse. But he's finally, fully taking in Claire's pleated skirt that hits right above her knees, her turtleneck that is only tight around her breasts, her fucking socks that leave the rest of her legs bare, and he's sorry to admit that he does want her. Yeah, he wants her romantically, and yeah, he's mentioned before that he doesn't want her like _that_ because she can't do _that_... but if she suddenly gave him the green light, he realizes that he’d fucking take it.

He thinks about kissing her, picking her up and tossing her on the countertop that's too high for her, waiting for the "okay" that would manifest in kissing him back. He'll confirm her want with his hands travelling up her skirt, over her panties, feeling the wetness between her legs seep through the cotton material. And she'll do the same for him, timidly reaching down to grasp the desire tented in his pants, moaning, stroking him faster as his fingers slip inside of her. He'll plaster her with kisses, yank the hemline of her turtleneck up and watch as she reaches behind her to unclasp her bra, revealing her perfect tits. Her legs will split wider from each other when he gets closer in between them, and he'll hike her skirt up to pull her soaked underwear down her body.

He wants to feel her arousal as he teases his hardness against her dripping sex, wants to hear her cry out when he inches himself inside, wants her tugging at his hair or scraping at his back because it's all too good, wants her legs to tremble around him with each stroke, wants her wet clit grinding against him... wants her to come all over his cock.

Jesus. 

And he doesn't even bother with worrying about the fucking condom in his fantasy.

He said that he didn't even think twice about sex with Claire, and he meant it, but fuck, they're both eighteen and the idea of her is just overwhelming.

And this is why Gray is not good enough for her. This is why he's awful, why he doesn't deserve her, why he can't tell her shit.

Because here Claire is, in her outfit that she wore to _church,_ after she's done a plethora of kind gestures for him, and all he can think about is fucking her hard in her kitchen. He's not even fantasizing about making love to her, about being gentle like she at least deserves- no. He's considering what it would be like to have her pussy take his cock on a _countertop. Jesus,_ what is wrong with him?

So, no, he can’t tell her that he loves her. He can’t tell her that he deserves her because that would be a lie. He can't reveal that he wants _any_ of this because she's too fucking good for him, and he's terrible, and he shouldn’t have thoughts like this, but here they are, and he’s sorry that they fucking exist.

Claire gives him a puzzled face mid-chew. "Umm, what's up?"

Poker face on, the rest of the world off.

"Nothin'," Gray says, sipping his wine slowly, pushing it all out of his mind. "Nothin' at all."

* * *

She dreams of a touch that she hasn't experienced yet.

Not like the nightmare she had after her makeup date with Trent, where a shadowy figure grabbed at her. The person here is faceless, or at least, she can't see his face, but she can feel him and gosh... it all feels really nice _._

Every trace of her skin makes her goosebumps rise, makes her heart thump wildly, but she's not nervous at all. She's smiling broadly the whole time, when she sighs with pleasure, when she finds herself pinned under him, when she reaches around to unclasp her own bra- apparently it's all good in her mind. Umm, since when did she become so brazen?

She feels a pair of coarse hands on her, the scruff of a beard drag against her delicate skin, searing it red. Her breath hitches when his tongue swirls over her nipples, running a line down her stomach... not stopping, even when it hits-

_Oh, boy._

There's a build up... a pressure between her legs, but in the best way possible. She's never even _tried_ touching herself there... that sure wouldn't be allowed, but when this person does it, he-

Okay, why is she referring to them as "this person?" Isn't it safe to assume that it's, you know... her boyfriend?!

It just feels different than her boyfriend. The touch is different, the way his fingers linger over certain areas is different, and jeez, has he not been moisturizing his hands lately or something? Why are they so _dry_... what's this current cold weather doing to them? Why has he suddenly grown out his beard- Trent's _always_ been clean-shaven. And why can't she see his face? Is it because she's too busy shamelessly throwing her head back to moan out little noises of desire?

Before long, Claire can feel her own hands reaching for his belt buckle, but it's hard to concentrate when there's a mess soaked between her legs.

Kissing Trent... did this to her sometimes, but other times, it didn't. She figures getting aroused isn't always a guarantee. But, she's often wondered what it would feel like to finally... well, y'know.

Something presses into her entrance, and she just gives an excited nod without any hesitation whatsoever, and then... there's nothing that hurts. She feels a tightness at her centre, feels moving inside of her, feels full, but there's zero pain. Just... waves of something, a heart beat down there, _anything._

Fingers and tongues and rhythms entangled.

Her breathing goes shallow. Claire awakens to a knocking at her door, and the same wetness between her legs. "Oh, wow," she murmurs.

 _Damn it_ , why'd the Bible have to ban sex before tying the knot? Why couldn't they just ban meat on Fridays, or estrogen supplementation?

... Wait a minute.

She really just can't catch a break, can she? 

"Blondie!" It's Gray, outside her door, jolted with caffeine and ready to train. "Are you up? Let's go."

There's literally no time for a cold shower.

Claire's just gotta put a poker face on, and the rest of the world can stay off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to Poker Face by Lady Gaga on repeat during the writing of this chapter let me tell u... I don't have any regrets what a bop I s2g
> 
> TA-DA! Mineral Town is a part of... wait for it.... Delaware! Yay? Haha, it was between that and Ohio tbh, but because there's a saltwater beach, it had to be Delaware. I feel like nothing ever gets written about it, so here we are lol
> 
> I'm so bad at Signal asuhusjaw I feel u Claire
> 
> A βασκανία is just a vaskania spelt in Greek :) So many cultures believe in the evil eye, I think they're onto something
> 
> I really really wanted to break the fourth wall with that Ann/ Karen conversation, hopefully you guys found that somewhat humorous haha
> 
> I like the sweetness that Claire and Gray had going for them in this chapter... and then the last part hit and it was like o_O Okaay, we've abandoned sweet, we're going into some hard territory I got it
> 
> Thx for reading everyone, next chapter's already up along with this one <3


	31. The Ugly Truth

“It seems you’ve forgotten all about me,” Trent mumbles in between kisses. Claire’s gone over to the clinic just before closing; Elli's already left, bidding her with a short and simple goodbye, as she quickly became pinned under him. She lets her head loll back on the couch, gasping when his mouth trails down her jaw, over her jugular… pulling the fabric of her plaid shirt between his teeth. It's like he's at least hoping that a button will pop off or something. _Definitely a different touch than my dream._ Can't she just find a way for him to channel her inner thoughts and desires?

_Good one._

Claire's eyes fly open, and her body instinctively presses away from his. She crosses her legs, withdrawing her hands from her sides to clasp them in her lap. Coughing, she doesn't meet his gaze. “I so have not.”

Trent leans back, sizing her up while frowning. The room is dimly lit, thanks to the small lamp at the corner of his room. “You have. Normally I’m the one to cancel.”

“Well, maybe you just got a taste of your own medicine.” She’s about to go into a long-winded explanation about being there for her friends so that none of them, especially not Gray, will feel abandoned again, when Trent pulls her closer, kissing her forehead.

“Is that any way to speak to me before my birthday?” he muses.

Claire _loves_ being held like this. She would take being held over being kissed _any_ day. Maybe it's because Trent's kisses always lead to something more, and being held sweetly can never get misconstrued like that. And this why she liked the dream; it provided her with the tactile feeling that she craves. There’s something about two larger arms wrapped around her body that give off more comfort than mouths mashed against one another could ever provide.

His lips remain on her forehead, but one of his hands snakes up, not to any taboo area, but to the top of her head.

He starts gently prodding it down.

Claire frowns. Is he trying to get her ear closer to his heart or something? That's just cheesy. She doesn’t fight it until it drives lower than his sternum, stopping just below the solar plexus. _What is he doing?_ She doesn’t want to lie like this, doesn’t want her head pushed down either. _What’s with him?_ Is he angry about her flaking on their plans during the week?

“Claire,” he whispers, the pads of his fingers prodding her crown.

Okay, now it’s just hurting her neck because she’s resisting it.

Grabbing at his wrist, she pulls it backward to get him off of her scalp. As she raises herself up, she narrows her eyes at his own confused ones.

“What the heck are you doing?" she asks, all perplexed. "Are you mad at me or something?”

Trent blinks, gaze fixed on her hand with his pale wrist snatched in between. Embarrassed, she releases it.

“Where’d you learn that one?” he falters.

Claire tucks her hair behind her ears awkwardly. “Trent... what were you-?”

“I was only… trying to have you lay on my lap, Claire. That’s all.”

“Then why wouldn’t you just say that?”

“I just… um, you get me tongue tied, love."

She arches her brow. _What is even going on?_

"Okay," Trent clarifies, clearing his throat. He sits upright in annoyance, peering at her closely. "I... wait, where did you get those earrings?”

If Claire could break the fourth wall, she'd be staring at the audience dumbfounded. Are men... are men okay? “… You’re just noticing them now? Gray made them for my birthday weeks ago.”

“They’re… they look… you’re just so beautiful, Claire.” Trent's gaze is fixed on them, like his mind is working through rusted gears of jewelry knowledge. _Open heart surgery? A breeze. Ruby earrings? Um… durr_. “Although, they do clash with the pink, though.” His thumb brushes against necklace that she's wearing, a heart-shaped pink diamond that he custom ordered for her from Mineral Blacksmith.

She can't help but laugh, pushing at him playfully before getting up to grab a glass of water from his cupboard. Everything in his room, this office, smells medical. Maybe she should get him some candles for his birthday. “Since when do _you_ know anything about colours clashing, or fashion in general?”

He’s come up behind her, kissing the top of her head where his hand previously was, brushing the hair off to one side.

“I suppose not much,” Trent says. “But I do know that you’d look better in all-white.”

And she whirls around, staring at him with heartfelt eyes, positively swooning.

His hands take the cup and place it away from her, his fingers roam around her body, his mouth collides into her own. And Claire's just waiting for that dream sequence to get activated once again.

* * *

“You fucked it up again. Take a walk,” Saibara snaps. He picks up the bracelet, as though not caring that it’s scorching hot, tossing it carelessly on the anvil atop his work station. The centred emerald stays put, while the colourful beads that surround it fly everywhere. When is his grandson going to learn that an oval cut means an _oval cut_ , not a fucking _circle_. “Get lost.”

Gray watches as the little beads jump across the floor, like an explosion of tiny gems, scowling. “Shut up.” He grabs his coat, a brown one that used to belong to his father, getting ready to leave through the front door.

“Why don’t you come back when you’re not shit?”

His grandson brushes him off rudely, yanking his gloves off and tossing them angrily away as he flips up the middle finger, a telltale sign of his departure.

When the fuck is he going to grow up? It should have been a clear indicator that Saibara never had these maturity problems with raising Kurt- only with Joey, so therefore, history/ genetics are clearly just repeating themselves. Why does his grandson have to be such a goddamn twat?

The door bursts open, and before hurling out obscurities, Saibara takes the effort to check who it is.

“Saibara,” the doctor says with a smile, walking through their small corridor. “Mr. S. How goes… everything?”

He deadpans, bending down to retrieve a few of the beads. An ache in his scoliosis-ridden spine jolts through his body, but he just swallows and remains upright, placing the few beads that he did collect in his pocket. Why is _this_ twat here?

Trent just starts talking, apparently too busy to wait for a response to his previous question. “Listen, I’m gonna need you to go and fetch me something in the mines. You see, I’m looking to custom order a pair of earrings for a certain someone.”

“You are, eh?” Saibara asks gruffly. “Hm.”

“Although my birthday is the one that's approaching, I’ve got no problem showering my Claire with gifts.”

“Yeah,” Saibara says, ignoring this. “What, you're turnin' twenty-six, huh? And she’s just turned eighteen… you know, something can be legal, and still be wrong. This ain’t the 1920’s. Fuckin’ sick if you ask me.”

Trent’s eye twitches. Saibara often wonders what his expressions were regarding his late daughter-in-law's concerns about her health. Did he ever even care? “I didn’t ask for your opinion, you old shit. I’m asking you to get your ass to the mines, find me a gem, make me some earrings. I'm paying top dollar. If you find another pink diamond it would be suitable, but I’ll pay more for an alexandrite. She’d look fantastic in that.”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Of course she would. Don’t be a brainless, you old kook.”

Saibara just slowly clamours over to his desk, humming as he rummages through an open drawer. “No as in, _no_ , I’m not doin' your order.”

Trent lets out a low breath, as though he's laughing in disbelief. “I beg your pardon?”

“We’re a little busy... pressed for time, y’know?” He motions toward all of the beads on the floor. This is their only order at the moment, and it's just a mere bracelet for Manna, from her husband Duke. Easy work, he's just giving his grandson a hard time about it because he knows that he can always do better and improve. “I also got this here new policy: we don’t serve sick fucks.” Saibara smiles. “Now get the hell off my property.”

Trent exhales through his nostrils angrily, his face a splotchy red colour. “You’re in no fucking position to be turning away business, old man.” Enraged, he gestures toward the shop's beat up floorboard, the walls that need serious repainting, the uncovered wooden beams on the ceiling.

"Hmm, I'd have to disagree with you, doc. I think we're looking mighty fine h-"

"Make me. The earrings. Right. Now."

Saibara just blinks, pulling out a chair for himself as he sits back in it. “We’re not makin' earrings right now.”

“I need custom-made earrings,” Trent growls out.

“Why? 'Cause you think she'll just forget about the pair my grandson made? You're that jealous? What's next, you wanna order a larger, more expensive pin in the shape of a cross for her? What kind of mentality... what's the matter with you?” Saibara scoffs. “You got a lot of growing up to do, my friend.”

“ _You_ need the money old man. Not me.”

"Your last order will keep us comfortable for awhile. Don't you worry." He leans back, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "I wonder how the residents here would feel knowing their town doctor's in front of me, throwing a temper tantrum."

Trent just chuckles, slapping his knee. His face returns to its angry state milliseconds later, which almost unnerves him. "You think people would believe an elderly shit like you? Or a fuck-up like your grandson, over someone with their MD? Don't be dense."

"I bet you just paid your way through medical school," Saibara chortles.

Trent fumes. "H-how dare you."

"You know, buying jewelry for a girl isn't gonna get her to sleep with you. I make it for a living; believe me, I know."

"I am a paying customer just like the rest of the _hicks_ in this town, and I demand-"

“My eyes are too old to get the details of earrings right. I didn’t even _make_ those earrings. If you want 'em done," he says, smiling again. "Ask my grandson, then."

“F-fuck you,” Trent snaps, stomping away. He nearly loses his balance on a few of the beads, eyes blazing as he makes his dramatic exit.

_There's someone who's never been told "no" before in his whole life. And who's clearly using money to compensate for... something. When's Claire gonna see it for herself?_

Saibara rises from his seat, bending down carefully to retrieve more of the beads still scattered from the floor. His grandson storms back in, throwing his jacket on their antique coat rack. He frowns, getting down on his knees to pick up the mess.

“Why the hell was the doctor here?" Gray asks coldly. His face is bare, and lately, hasn't been hidden under the cap he always wears. Maybe he lost it. "You gonna keep serving him at his hand and fucking foot, Gramps?”

Saibara is about to argue, about to let him know that he just turned away good business for his fucking sake, but he merely sighs. That's the last time he'll ever be able to take the high road and make a moral decision like that again; money is money. He was just bluffing earlier, they're gonna need some more eventually.

“Don't talk if you don't know shit, kid," he mutters. "Isn't that what you like to say?"

And his grandson just scowls, grabbing his welding tool and getting back to work. He'll never have to know about the sacrifices that people make for the ones they love, 'cause he's one cold-hearted jackass.

* * *

“Happy birthday!” Claire cheers again, for what seems to be the thirtieth time this night. “I wish you let me throw you a party, Trent.”

"I don't party much," he tells her, pulling on one of the purple streamers that she's hung from her ceiling. There's something on his mind; maybe she'd look kinda sad too if she knew there wouldn't be candles to blow out on her birthday. But he specifically requested that there be no cake.

Claire doesn't get it when people hate their birthdays. _Like really, seriously... who could hate a special day dedicated to you being alive? C'mon, let down your front. People secretly like their birthday._

They’re sitting in her empty house, on her couch, as Maggie sulks near them. She's moping around the floor because Trent is in her spot... oh well, it _is_ his special day after all. Claire just smiles at him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Well, lucky for you, you're dating a total party animal," she says with a laugh, gesturing toward all of the balloons that she blew up. "Do you like your gift?"

She went into the library... promised Mary that she'd get on that book _eventually_ (she hadn't even had a second yet to read the synopsis), cracked open a very old encyclopedia to find an anatomical heart, redrew it, brought the design to Saibara, and asked if he could make a pin in the shape of it.

But he told her that his eyes were getting worse as the years went on... and it would just make more sense for Gray to do the order.

And her friend made no other comment after she asked; he just did it begrudgingly. She paid him, he wouldn't take her money, but she paid him, left the money with the tip at Saibara's front desk, and picked it up for tonight.

Oh, and she made dumplings with a pan seared salmon... couldn't there be an _America's Next Top Model_ , but for really talented-because-of-their-trauma young adult chefs? She'd freaking crush it.

"Of course," he tells her. "Those blacksmiths are really talented with their hands. You just can't help but... _love_ them. And the detail on that aorta sure is impressive!"

"Umm, right," Claire agrees with a laugh. "Are you drunk?"

"Just mildly," Trent slurs, sloshing the Chardonnay around in his glass. She also went to Duke to get him this super expensive bottle of wine, because he's a total connoisseur snob when it comes to his alcohol. "Why won't you have a drink with me?"

"No, thank you. White wine is seriously nasty."

"You grew up in a church," says Trent. "You were surrounded by a plethora of red wine."

"I never drank it!" she exclaims. Her face goes all serious, and she tries to relax her breathing so that her heart doesn't start racing wildly. "Trent… I’ve got something to tell you.”

Is she finally ready to confess that she's fallen in love with him? Is this really happening right now? Her head is spinning. Something as sentimental as this is the best birthday gift around, in her opinion. Beats out jewelry, or a bottle of wine, or a nice dinner any day. 

“So do I,” he says.

She grins. “You go first!” _Buy me some time... buy me some time, damn it!_

“Claire… I know we've known each other for not ter... terribly long, but it feels like... a lifetime." Trent draws in a breath, removing his lab coat. It falls to the floor, the anatomical heart pin on it making a _clinking_ sound. He's wearing a black turtleneck underneath, and if it weren't such a dire moment, she'd joke that he looks like one of those street artists in the city. "I know what I want. And I think you know... that _I know_ what I want." He looks deep into her eyes with his glassy ones. "Tonight… it will hurt at first. I'm not especially gentle with this, and I won't lie to you in saying that it won't be painless... because it won't. It’s probably not even going to feel good... for you, anyway. But, if we just… rip it off like a bandaid, get it over with-”

Her smile slowly starts to drop, wilting like a summertime flower in autumn. " _It won't be painless", "it's not going to feel good", "rip it off like a bandaid"..._ The hopefulness in her eyes fades away, and... holy cow... oh gosh- is he _dumping her_ on his _birthday?!_ _This is the present that he wants?_ _He'd rather be alone than stay with me another minute on his special day?!_

"Are you... breaking up with me, Trent?" Claire's voice comes out like a strangled whisper. Maybe she should have taken his offer on a drink. That probably would have made her feel this a whole lot less, or, made her even more emotional. Who knows anymore? His hands were reaching out to her before, but they've stopped immediately upon hearing her words. His face freezes.

 _Jeez, oh man. He_ is _dumping me._ Her heart seizes, and instant tears spring to her eyes. She furiously blinks them back, shaking her head to stifle herself from crying.

"What?!" Trent stares at her. "N-no... I was... oh, Lord, you thought I was talking about ending it with you?"

She drags her fists through her eyes, her heart soaring once again. _He didn't mean breaking up! He didn't- CLAIRE, QUIT BEING SO DRAMATIC, DAMN IT! STOP JUMPING TO CONCLUSIONS AND LET THE GUY SPEAK._

Wait, what did he mean, then?

His hand extends, gripping one of her wrists closer to him. Her instant reaction is to pull away due to her training with Gray, but she waits to see what's going on.

Her heart is thumping quickly as he guides her hand... bringing over his crotch. Oh, dear God. She feels the hardness from his trousers, when his other hand covers over hers to curl her fingers around it.

"I meant this," Trent mutters into her ear. It feels like all of the air has been forcibly removed from the room. "For my birthday... I thought we could finally focus on what I want."

His grip is strong, but she manages to rip his hand off of her, pulls away from the erection in lap to look up at him in horror. "I-I-" Oh, God, when he meant pain, when he meant getting it all over with... he meant her losing her virginity! Ohh, dear _God_ , did she lead him on, on his birthday?! Didn't guys want sex all of the time, and on their birthdays, it was like, cranked up to a thousand? How could she have forgotten that episode of _The Sex in the City?!_ What has she done?! "Trent... I'm so, so sorry. I had no idea... that you were thinking... that I- that we were gonna-"

He breaks away from her, leaning backward on the couch, his expression darkening. He grabs his wine glass, chugs it all back, taking the remote from her footrest while swearing under his breath. "So, you're not giving me what I want for my birthday. You didn't think... you didn't _consider_ what I want, Claire? When were you going to let me know that you planned on giving me blue balls, and on my fucking birthday at that? Did you know how that'd feel for me?"

She... _fuck!_ She doesn't like words like that, but there's not much else that would suffice. Just... _fuck!_ How could she _not_ consider this stipulation for his birthday? She feels horrible, no, worse than horrible. Like a literal piece of garbage.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, tears staining her eyes. "I tried to make this all perfect... I thought you'd consider, or remember what I told you... because that hasn't changed. Trent, I _still_ can't. I can't until I'm married, you _know_ this."

He nods, pretending as though he understands. "Blaming me on my birthday. Good job, Claire. What were you planning on telling me? That you get off to teasing my dick?"

"I've never gotten off to anything," Claire mumbles out, biting her lip. She tries to calm down by pulling on a button from her couch, but she ends up unintentionally ripping it off, stuffing it under the cushions. Hanging her head low, she just prepares for a break-up of mass proportion. Maybe, it's for the best. Trent clearly has a high... libido-thing, and she-

She's _fallen_ for him now. And, maybe she might actually _want_ to feel this climax that everyone's talking about chasing after in songs. She doesn't want to be some freak that's been programmed into being afraid of sex... but maybe that's just what she is.

"I'm sorry, I should have reiterated all of this... I didn't mean to ruin your birthday."

"Didn't you think about my feelings, my hopes, my desires, Claire?"

"If you're gonna dump me, then I understand." Her voice gets all low from the tears. Also, for someone that cries a lot, couldn't she be a somewhat okay-looking crier? Why'd she have to be such an _ugly-_ crier? "And I wasn't going to tell you that- I promise. I'm not... sadistic or anything. I don't like making you upset, and I didn't mean to lead you on tonight. I thought you knew that... what I'm not allowed to do... look, Trent, I was just going to tell you that I love you. That's all."

He stares at her through the darkness. The television screen is the only thing that lights his face, but it's just static at this point, so he presses the button on the remote to completely turn it off, bathing them in complete, black shade. Not even the moon is present outside tonight... or maybe it's just a little sliver of a crescent right now.

"You love me?"

Claire nods, even though he likely can't see her in such pitch darkness. Why is his voice so full of disbelief? Does she not convey it enough? "Of course I do... I just don't always love the way you make me feel."

"How do I make you feel? I do everything for you," he snaps.

"I'm not saying that. It's just, sometimes I feel so stupid when I'm with you, and I know you're older and smarter, but there's just stuff I don't know. Like tonight. I didn't ever meant to-"

"Claire... can you blame me for being angry? Here I am thinking that we're going to... make love, tonight, amidst our actual love, and I'm left with disappointment." She feels his hands grab her shoulders in the dark. "Fuck, I thought it went without saying. I love you, too, Claire. I'm sorry for making you cry."

She's trying to make out his face through the blurry vision that her tears have caused, adjusting her eyes to the lack of light in the room. "Y-you do?"

"Claire... I'll do anything for you. And I'm a surgeon. I must be patient, because I have patients." Trent forces a kiss on her forehead, pulling the backs of her should blades to bring her closer to him. "Tonight wasn't only about me. I was... oh, forget it."

"What?"

"It's nothing."

"Please, tell me, Trent. What is it?"

"Sex is for two people. I thought that I would be catering to your own arousal as well. Tonight was not just for me." Trent takes one of her hands, guiding it between her legs. He doesn't use his hand; he prods her own. "Don't you ever feel... heightened, there? Don't you ever question what it would feel like to take me inside of you?"

 _Oh, gosh._ Claire thinks back to her dream. "Of course," she whispers. "I think about everything, it's just... I can't."

"What's more important, Claire? A promise you made years ago, or your love for me?"

It’s like she is truly watching Trent slip away, like sand falling through her fingers. She feels terrible for misleading him. Her handsome doctor-boyfriend, about to leave her because she’s been forced into not giving it up. It isn’t like she particularly _wants_ to give it up either, though.

But it also isn’t like an actual, tangible thing. What is this metaphoric representation that she’d be “losing?” Why is this dictating her life and relationships? Her mind is racing.

"Promise that you'll take what I said into consideration tonight. And, at least consider alternatives such as foreplay, for now," he says. "Please... for me? For the sake of our relationship?"

Claire nods, letting his tense mouth kiss her again. She's not sure if she managed to be good in the damage control department, or screw it up royally. Maybe a bit of both.

She never meant to lead him on. She knows that his hands roam, and that his mouth prods, and that his fingers work quick, but he's an older guy. And she's just going to have to figure out a way to mature faster so that she doesn't lose what they've sought out to build together. She will not lose her boyfriend, the love of her life who still miraculously loves her back, after she almost completely ruined things for him today.

"Okay, Trent. I promise I will."

* * *

_“Elli!”_ Trent snaps, stumbling through the clinic doors. “It’s fucking pouring.”

_And what the hell do you want me to do about that?_

She hates his voice, hates his damn accent more. He always thinks that there's a lure to his Southern drawl, like he sounds as sexy as Brad Pitt. _Puh-lease_ , it's just insufferable to her. She listens to him shake out an umbrella at the front as she stands in his backroom, curating a special birthday cocktail.

“Autumn rain,” says Elli.

She's been very busy preparing.

There’s not much that she remembers about that night. She'll play it back over and over in her brain, like a movie reel. It comes in flickers. One minute, she'll think that she's got it, the next, it's just not coming together. She'll play out the facts in her head, too: she's eighteen, almost nineteen in it, a gifted student prodigy. She's got everything going for her: everything. It's just her, her mother, and her grandmother at home, and they're strict, but she's going to make something of her life. She doesn't need a man; _she'll_ be the one to provide.

Another fact: Elli's grown up in Mineral Town her whole life, attended school in the city, studied with Dr. Hardy in the evenings. She wants to be a doctor when she's older. Her specialization? Oncology, gynaecology, or just GP.

Nothing to do with pediatrics... she was childfree by choice. She _hates_ kids.

Hated kids.

Before _he_ was Dr. Hardy's... fucking protégé, _she_ was. And she was just brilliant. Too smart for her own good.

She also had to abide by some pretty harsh rules and curfews due to her upbringing. But, it was okay, because she was always a good girl.

Sometime later, she started to rebel more. Nothing serious, just heavier eyeliner along the lash line, telling herself that she could handle a glass of wine at dinner for the health benefits, doing stuff without getting permission first. And, of course she made some mistakes.

The overnight conference... this was the biggest mistake. One that couldn't be overwritten.

Hardy promised her mother that it would all be fine. They were comfortable with him, and for good reason: he was going to help her accomplish her dreams of medical school. This conference would be the first toe dipped in the gigantic ocean that made up the study of medical science.

But sometimes, sometimes her "rebellion" wasn't always tame. Sometimes, Elli would drink too much. Not because she liked it, but because it helped her let loose a bit. Kept her sane; got her going.

Picture this: big medical conference, held in _Texas._ Hardy got invited to it every year, because he did his own studying there. And he was, is, nothing short of a genius. He completed his residency in Dallas, and Elli was his plus one for the conference, attending it with bright eyes and a hopeful heart. It was only three days, and every panel, guest speaker, snack was paid for by the university. Mineral Town didn't have this kind of funding; didn't have opportunities like this.

Hardy was up late with a medical mystery on the night before they were set to return... and everyone else was out drinking. Partying, celebrating success and science and all of that shit. Especially all of the young people.

And she should have stayed in.

But she just wanted to have a little fun.

And there he was: a medical prodigy like her. Elli'd already been drinking at that point, was already _wasted_ upon meeting him, and slurred out a _hello._

To her surprise, he slurred out one back.

It was messy. But life is messy like that too, sometimes.

She remembers consensual, unprotected sex- she honestly does. She remembers a nod from her, mashed drunk lips against one another, the two of them both drinking underage... but she told herself that could just handle everything thrown at her. She was smart.

You can be smart and still do something very dumb.

When she woke up with the worst hangover of her life the next morning... when she saw what had happened, what they'd done.

_Dear God._

She'd never get Hardy involved. This was her dilemma, her problem. How embarrassing would it be for him to just think of her as some cheap slut that couldn't wait to get out of her hick town to fuck someone he potentially knew?

She didn't get the guy's name, can't even recall any of his discernible features. What good would telling someone do? One night stands happened all the time... not to her, but they definitely happened. And Hardy didn't have to know. So she gathered her clothes from the night before, left the guy with his face smushed between the pillows, her exit as quiet as it was humiliating. She never really got a good look at him that night. If you'd asked her to point him out in a police line-up, she'd freeze on the spot.

When she gets a good look at Trent now, she isn’t sure what to think.

The guy that night had dark hair… but was it nearly this dark? And he was far more chiseled… God, she’s just plain confused.

She needs answers.

There was an aftermath to follow that _Elli_ had to deal with all on her own. She took a _Plan B_ , albeit, kinda late, but she still got it in her system within the three-day window. She was smart; smart girls didn't get in to problems like this. And she was a _good_ girl at that. _And,_ she got a period after this - there was no _reason_ to test for a... for a baby. At least, she thought it was a period. It was a bleed... she later learned common statistics behind implantation spotting in pregnancies, and _fuck,_ how could she not know? Gynecology was within one of her options... _how could she not know?!_

Barley of all people made the comment that she was putting on some pounds. Not terribly so, she'd always been tall, and she managed to hide it well. She just told herself that it was due to stress, and the old man's poor eyesight.

Her mother made a comment, too, just before she died... before everything happened. About her weight gain. But Elli was stressed beyond belief. She had medical school to apply for, interviews to perfect, a guy that she never even got the name of, all on her mind.

And three seasons later, she was sitting with Dr. Hardy in his office, having him explain to her... shit, she doesn't even remember. What she does remember is a sharp pain in her stomach, one so gutted, so agonizing, that she truly thought that she was dying. She excused herself to go to the bathroom.

Saw all of the blood on the toilet, felt the cutting pain of something inside of her, of cramps, of a contraction of sorts-

No.

Hardy rushed forward when he'd heard her fall in his washroom, saw her in this state... asked Elli with forced-calmness if there were any chance that she could be pregnant.

And Elli shook her head no all offended, because there was no chance in _hell._

But this was a lie. Because there was most definitely, even if it were slim, still a chance.

When she got sedated... when she passed out from the pain because it all became too much... she awoke feeling empty, as Dr. Hardy stood by the foot of her cot.

A baby in his arms.

Worse than any horror film she'd ever seen.

"It was a c-section," he had told her, cradling the... the infant. Not her infant, no, it couldn't have been hers. There was no way-

"He's... Elli, do you know who his father is?"

And she just sobbed, buried her head in her hands as she grabbed at her hair, believing this to be some sort of a nightmare, some kinda sick, twisted nightmare that she had to force herself to awaken from. She yanked, screamed, pulled-

"He's yours. He is. You have to breastfeed," Hardy said. He rocked the swaddled little thing more carefully, shaking his head. "Did this happen at the medical conference? All of those months ago? The timeline would be correct... is this my fault, Eleanor?"

"No!" she'd screamed through sobs. Hardy was like her father... her surrogate father. She couldn't have him disappointed in her like this, even though this was as worse as shit could get. But, to let him down like this; to have him blame himself, that wasn't allowed either. "Dr. Hardy, it wasn't. Please-"

He tried handing the infant to her desperately. It was sleeping... it didn't look anything like her. It was far more pale, hair a shock of black, lips full and... no. It wasn't hers. It was impossible.

"He needs to eat. And you need to expel your breastmilk. Or, at least pump it-"

"That's not my child," she muttered hoarsely, feeling like someone had stuffed marbles down her throat.

"Eleanor," he said. She'd never seen a stone-cold man so freaked out like this before. It was unsettling, disturbing. "Did you not know about this? How... how could you have gone without any prenatal care? Why wouldn't you have considered an abortion, or, at least-"

She just shook her head and wept, demanding the pump because she couldn't handle this thing latching on to her... this thing that couldn't have belonged to her.

Her mother came to Forget-Me-Not Valley hours later, after a call from Hardy. She cried next to Elli's cot, body trembling, wondering aloud why and how something like this could happen.

Elli just wanted _nothing_ to do with it- with him, wanted to give him away, to pretend like this never happened. She could lose the excess weight, try a scar revision cream at the sight of the caesarian section, figure it all out-

"We'll raise him," her mother had said through tears. She was at the foot of the bed, nestling the baby in more layers of swaddled blankets. Hardy had stepped out to give them some privacy. " _I'll_ raise him... but Elli... God, Elli. Why? How?!"

And Elli didn't have any semblance of a response.

They returned to Mineral Town days later, with Elli's stomach still in bandages, with her heart heavy, with her breasts sore from producing so much milk.

"You have to get him to latch," her mother instructed. "Elli, please. We can raise him as your adopted brother, but-"

Elli scowled. "Just give him away. I don't want to _see_ him-"

"He didn't ask for this," her mother snapped.

"Well, neither did I!" Elli shrieked.

" _You_ made the choice to have unprotected sex... _you_ made the choice not to pee on a stick, Elli. _You_ didn't confront your problems, and _you're_ in medicine. None of this is his fault. You should have known bet-"

Elli just began to sob harder. And then the baby started sobbing, and she just about lost it.

"An unwanted child," her mother said slowly, rocking the wailing thing in her arms. "Does not have to be an unloved child."

These are the last words that she ever said to Elli before she passed. She went to bed that night, she never woke up. A perfectly healthy individual otherwise... and then, just like that; her mom had a heart attack in her sleep... died without so much as a goodbye.

Elli _obviously_ blamed herself... feared that the stress that she caused manifested in the aortic block of oxygen to her mother's arteries. Her grandmother was already deteriorating at that point, not even able to comprehend the loss, and she had never felt more scared.

Never felt more alone.

She kept having to leave the wake periodically to breastfeed her son- no, sorry, her little brother, and explained that he just needed to be tended to constantly due to the nature of his birth. She had to pad her bra with layers upon layers of cloth so nothing leaked out, had to tell people amidst their condolences that the child was found abandoned in Forget-Me-Not Valley, and that they decided to take him in. And here she was, three days postpartum, picking up the pieces of her shattered world. 

"Goodness! A little darling, he is! What's his name?" Anna, Mary's nosy mother, had cooed. She looked up at Elli, frowning. "What happened to your mother is dreadful, Eleanor. How will you ever look after this little mouse now?"

Little Mouse...

"Stuart," is all Elli said.

"Pardon?"

 _Little mouse... Stuart Little._ Her favourite book as a child.

She couldn't just leave this baby now that she'd named it. Him.

"His name is Stuart. Call him Stu, please."

Anna of all people could never find out the truth... she'd just have to keep this dirty little secret to herself.

Ann, Karen and Popuri all offered to babysit Stu. These were her closest friends, but she could never tell them what had happened. It was just between Hardy, her mother, and herself, taking it all the way to the grave. The shame was far too much. Even Hardy simply helping her... she saw the look that crossed his eye. Like she was walking, talking, wasted potential. She couldn't even attend medical school anymore, what with this baby... Hardy had to commute to Mineral Town to teach her how to become a nurse instead. To pay the bills... to support her broken family.

Everyone told her how brave she was throughout the whole thing. If brave meant a constant need to throw up, then she was the most formidable person on the planet.

Stu deserved better. She grew to love him, did what her mother would have wanted. Coddled him, cared for him, found comfort when she rocked him in her arms in the wee hours of the morning.

She needed to know... who helped her to make him?

“Elli, get over here.”

She stares at Trent, returning from her thoughts, swallowing the lump back in her throat. She stands by his kitchen sink, readying the cocktail. “What do you want?”

"You. Right now."

She nods. "Okay."

He makes a face. It's dark, with the exception of his medical lamp next to her. His wet, raven hair clings to his forehead. “I don’t like when you’re so compliant.”

 _Disgusting._ “Have a drink with me." Elli forces a smile. "It is your birthday, after all."

_He's already wasted. Like he needs another drink._

She hands him the glass, and he's just... so fucking stupid, not questioning where her own glass is if they're "sharing a drink," not questioning where the alcohol came from, and he chugs back the entire thing like she knew he would. Her hands are shaking, but she steadies them on her hips, trying to remain calm. It's tonight or nothing. She's yet to see him get absolutely blackout drunk. What better day to fuck him up than his birthday?

The morals don't count right now.

Upon drinking the entire thing in under eight seconds, Trent immediately drops to the floor.

He gave her a concoction like this upon one of his first few weeks in Mineral Town... fuck him. He's a vile rapist, and has been blackmailing her for sex since he discovered the truth behind Stu's medical file. When Claire doesn't give it to him, because she shouldn't have to, he turns to Elli. And Elli should fight it, should go to authorities with this information, should drug him every time that he even tries to touch her.

But, he's not that stupid. He'd know; he'd ruin her in a matter of seconds. She can play it off tonight that he passed out due to his overt wine consumption, but this is the only time that this will work. And she's got to protect Stu. Elli needs this job, needs to figure all of this shit out.

She knows that she's got to work fast. She grabs the syringe from the side of the desk, ties his limp arm in an elastic, finds a vein.

Draws the blood.

And she’ll get her results soon enough.

Did she really, willingly have sex with this monster seven years ago? Wasn't the guy that night gentle and sweet, or is she curating a false memory in her head to deal with the pain that her mistake has caused? Did Trent remember that night? Upon first meeting, he hadn't a clue who she was. And she didn't know him, but God, he was familiar. Did he just often have drunk, casual, unprotected, blackout sex that he'd never be able to recall? Was it even him?

She can't help but kick his goddamn ribs for good measure. She should do this more often, because she's already feeling worlds better. But that's all she'll allow herself; she doesn't need him waking up tomorrow, playing detective as to why he's all bruised. Elli hopes that she concealed the puncture wound on his skin well enough.

But she'll be the nurse that she is now, a damn good nurse. She'll help him to bed, she'll explain tomorrow that he passed out and fell, help him to speculate where the bruise came from.

And he'll just be hungover with nothing, and she'll be sober, with a sample of comparative DNA to test.

“Happy birthday, motherfucker,” Elli says, kicking his ribs one more time for good measure. Fuck. Him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm the president of the Saibara fan club I said what I said
> 
> Trent's headpushing/ the gaslighting was so hard to write, but Elli's backstory was the most challenging part. Poor girl
> 
> Hope you guys liked this update of two long-ass chapters! :))


	32. The Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explanation for where I've been at the end if you wanna read it. Otherwise, just know that I'm back and that I love ya'll :-)

“What look are we going for? Because right now, your hair's giving me Dean Forester from _Gilmore Girls_.” Manna looks down at Gray expectantly in the chair, draping a raincoat material... thing over his body. She clasps the Velcro component a bit too tightly around his neck, before undoing and loosening it a tad. 

“Who?” he asks, shifting around uncomfortably in his seat.

“... Hair long. Time for chop, Grayson,” she says, rolling her eyes. Manna’s in her mid-fifties, with the _90210_ -esque vocabulary of Karen. She’s the oldest of the town gossipers, though you’d likely never guess it. Or, maybe you would; Gray reckons that the injectable botox in her non-existent, plastic laugh lines don’t exactly come across as _au natural_. Saibara says that she’s been with her husband (the town's alcohol supplier: Duke) since they were both seventeen, apparently to save face after giving birth out of wedlock to her estranged daughter, Aja. She’s nosy as hell, but (similar to Lillia), is a lot more tolerable than Sasha or Anna.

“Whatever. Trim’s fine.”

Manna gives him a solid once over, reaching for a pair of comically small glasses to the right of her countertop. Pushing them on up her wide nose, she ponders for a moment, before nodding. “You’re not _really_ going to just sit in my chair all silent and brooding again, are you? You’re about as quiet as Basil when he’s here for a cut. Why, years ago, Anna even insisted that _she’d_ start cutting his hair, but I told her that that was just ridiculous. She doesn’t even know her gel from her mousse!”

From what he’s gathered, the hairstyling chair is a sacred one. You spill secrets that you’d never think you’re going to spill. It’s probably just as secure as the confessions that Carter offers, but it’s not like he participates in that shit either.

So, Gray just says nothing in response, because this works for him. Saying and doing nothing is kind of his forte. Manna simply sighs, grabbing a spray bottle from her granite countertop as she begins to wet his hair. It always goes from a rich copper to a deep brown once soaked. A few spritzes of the liquid concoction stripe their way across the hanging mirror in front of him, causing his image to look as though it’s been pelted with raindrops.

“I’ll make you look handsome for those horse races, don’t you worry,” Manna chides. “I know who you dig.”

He really hopes that she’s kidding. Gray gives another uncomfortable shift in his seat, careful not to make a sound. The one shot of vodka he took before he got here is crawling its way up and around the well of his stomach.

 _Why_ did he feel the need to take a shot before something as simple as a haircutting appointment, you may ask? Same reason he did about three before Rick’s wedding even began: it helps him deal with social situations. He tells himself that he’s fine around those he’s comfortable with, but others? AKA, a majority of the people in this town? Not so much.

That’s a more detailed confession for later, though. He’ll get into it more on his birthday.

“C’mon, Grayson. Give me _something_ to work with here, at least!” Manna exclaims, going to town on his wet hair with her scissors. He hears a million little snips, smells something similar to oxycodone with salon-ready byproduct all rolled all into one, as the tiny pieces of him get cut away, dead and gone on the floor. “I want the hot gossip.”

Haircuts with Manna don’t really get easier. _Nothing_ about this town gets easier. He’s still hating a majority of the social interaction as much as ever. Again: number one reason he steers clear of it.

“We could talk about Claaaire,” she adds in a singsong-y voice.

 _Or we could not._ They’re mad at each other right now… but what else is new? Goddamn pain in the ass, that one is. He grits his back teeth tightly to keep from breaking this stone-cold demeanor, still saying nothing.

Manna groans in response. “Work with me here, Gray.”

“I don’t got nothing to say.”

“You don’t _have_ anything to say,” she corrects.

He just shoots her a glare. Another reminder that he’s not incorporated into this town? His rough as hell dialect.

 _Oh well._ It’s how everyone that he grew up around talks, and it’s seriously not going anywhere. 

“Mhm,” he mumbles.

“So, you hate everyone then?”

“Pretty much.”

“But not Claire. I can tell.”

Gray simply stares into his reflection, watching the skin on his face morph and pinch all pink. Can’t hide behind a hat while he’s getting his hair cut.

“Hate her the most,” he says, though that’s obviously the farthest thing from the truth.

Also, fucknut Rick still has his hat. Gray refuses to go get it, he refuses to own up, and both refuse to apologize, so there’s… that. Sentimental value of the hat aside, he can honestly hold a grudge for the rest of eternity.

“Oh, Gray, please. I wasn’t _born_ yesterday.” She arches her pencil-thin brow, skidding the sharpest part of her scissors across Gray’s bangs, nipping along the ends of his hair. It leaves a fiery mess on her floor. “I suppose that _I_ can just speak for the both of us, then.”

“You do that.”

“Well, for starters, listen to what Anna did to Sasha, Lillia and I the other day! The audacity of that woman sometimes, I swear to God! Unstable… menopausal… keeps poor Mary cooped up inside that library all day long. _And_ , she’s always trying to change her daughter… she’s lucky to even still _have_ a daughter that she gets to see everyday.”

Aja, Manna and Duke’s only child, ran away from this town almost two decades ago; the year Ann and Mary were both born. She hasn’t been back since. Manna will write to her, and she’ll write back, but her daughter refuses any verbal or physical contact, apparently due to the fear that she’ll have to speak to her estranged father again one day. Apparently, their broken relationship catapulted Manna into a deep depression for quite some time. She finds solace in watching little May for old man Barely from time to time, or chatting up Karen when she’s doing her grocery shopping, but it’s obviously not the same.

It's because voids aren’t meant to be filled; they’re just voids, plain and simple. Best left at that.

“Anyway," she continues. "Our VHS set of the _Y & R’s_ 23rd season arrived last week. Bless Jeff for calling the city Walmart to order it for us… you know, that Thomas is another one - he needs to just bite the bullet and get this town _cable_ already. I’ll start a petition for it, I can promise you that. And I’ll go around, collecting signatures like it’s nobody’s business. That would do the trick, I think. Don't know _why_ one has to go to such extremes to get something as simple as cable, but _c'est la vie,_ I suppose. You would sign it, wouldn't you Gray?”

 _Oh, great._ A yes or no question directed at him – he couldn't be more thrilled.

“If it means I get to watch live hockey again, sure,” he mumbles.

Manna seems to give him a nod of approval, before retrieving a razor from one of her drawers to messily slice the ends of his hair. “So, as I was saying, we’re ready to watch it, I’ve popped popcorn and everything, and we absolutely _have_ to figure out if Sharon’s kleptomania has gotten any worse. You know, for the sake of her unborn child that she’s carrying! And Anna gives me a call, saying that she’s been spending her whole week re-watching the final _Sex and the City_ season with her husband. She's got some nerve! Can you believe it?! Lillia and Sasha brushed it off, but I’m not as nice. Between you and me, I don’t exactly get along with that broad. It's the menopause, I swear to God.”

Gray would like to note that nothing… _nothing_ Manna just said even remotely registered in his brain.

“Did I just hear someone mention _Sex and the City_?”

Claire gives a gentle knock at the door to Manna’s kitchen, holding a basket of deep, plum eggplants while grinning. Gray doesn’t bother turning, because he can already see her reflection in the mirror.

“Oh, Claire!” Manna says happily, turning her attention toward her. “You’re _just_ in time for some hot gossip. Need a trim for your bangs?”

She laughs. “You did them already, silly.”

“How about that nice, blunt chop we were talking about earlier? Ready to take the plunge?”

Claire looks sheepish. _She’s thinking about cutting her hair?_ “I couldn’t. Plus, I gotta get going. I’m only here to give you some of these eggplants for your pasta dish.” As if she’s just noticing him scowling in the chair now, she shoots him one right back. “Gray.”

“Blondie.”

“Oh dear,” murmurs Manna, focusing back on his bangs. She weaves them between her index and middle finger, raising them to the sky, hacking in a vertical direction now. “What’s gotten you two mad at each other _this_ time?”

“Gray won’t take my money.”

“Told you, I don’t need your goddamn money.”

Claire crosses her arms over her large chest. Her blue overalls always have a tendency to accentuate her supple curves. It's hard to _not_ notice. “You’re _so_ annoying. I ordered a hammer upgrade from you guys, so I gotta pay for my services. _Obv.”_

“Oh, Claire. He’s just being a gentleman. Appreciate it, because a lot of men hardly are,” hums Manna, moving toward another section of his hair. Gray’s left eye and studded barbell is revealed as he arches his brow sharply toward the both of them. _Gentlemen his ass._

“Explain the burnt mac and cheese then. _And_ the pan.”

 _“You_ forgot to set a timer,” he says.

“ _You_ broke my timer after you kicked Maggie’s ball at it like, two weeks ago.”

He was dribbling and it was a good kick; he’s not even sorry.

Manna looks horrified. “How burnt is your pan now?”

“So burnt! And it’s my _cast iron_ , Manna!”

“You don’t want to soak it, it’ll rust. My genius husband made that mistake.” Manna shoots Gray a frosty look. He just blinks, unfazed.

“Men,” says Claire, sticking her tongue out at Gray. He rolls his eyes back at her.

“Men,” Manna agrees, ruffling up his still-wet hair to make it a little less damp. “Try scrubbing it with kosher salt, hon. That should do the trick.”

_You learn something new everyday._

Claire chews on her cheek thoughtfully for a moment, before moving the basket of eggplants from Manna’s chair to beside her kitchen sink. “I brought the money. Are you gonna take it yet?”

“You talk too much,” he mumbles.

“Says you!” She leans on the table, viewing his side profile, before stepping forward to brush off her overalls. “I better get going. The horse races are gonna start soon.”

“We’ll all be cheering you on!” Manna exclaims. “Right, Grayson?”

Gray just takes a piece of his cut up, fallen hair on his shoulder, flicking it at Claire. 

“Ugh,” she scoffs. “I really hate you.”

“Hate you more.”

Manna places her scissors down triumphantly, gesturing toward Gray’s reflection. “Like a young Clint Eastwood,” she remarks with pride. His dad used to say that too, actually. Probably because he just looks so sharp and goddamn mean. “Doesn’t he look like a young Clint Eastwood, hon?”

Claire hides a smile, tilting her head and nodding. “He’s alright, I guess.”

They lock eyes for a moment, before she’s the one to look away. What’s her deal now?

Manna grabs a purple _Conair_ blow-dryer, reaching over Claire to plug the long, thick black cord in. She pauses before pressing its button to ignite it on. “Oh! Before you go: how was your evening with the doctor last night? I heard it was his birthday.”

Claire freezes, her cheeks deepening from naturally rosy to a pinched pink colour. “Fine… yeah, no, it was uh, good. We always, um… have a good time together.”

_Whoop, there it is._

Gray tries to meet her eyes through the mirror, but Claire isn’t even looking at him. She’s not hard to read; he knows when shit has clearly gone down in her relationship... it's not like some kind of unobtainable secret. That’s likely why she won’t even look at him. Manna simply hums, turning the blow-dryer on to its lowest setting. She runs a large paddle brush through his rough locks of hair, raising them high for the warm wind to dry them.

“I’m gonna… get going,” Claire says, offering a less than enthusiastic peace sign. Though she’s merely in the doorway, she feels lightyears away for some reason. “I’ll see you guys later. Thanks.”

“No, thank you,” says Manna, gesturing toward the eggplants. She turns the blow-dryer off, placing it down in Gray’s lap as she walks over to Claire. His back is turned to them, but he can hear rummaging through the kitchen drawers for something.

“If you see Elli with the same one, it’s ‘cause I made it for her, too. They’re really wonderful,” Manna explains. Claire appreicatively thanks her again, and whatever was in Manna’s hands gets passed into her own as she turns to leave. The kitchen door closes, and once again, she grabs the blow-dryer, flipping it on its highest setting as she waves it around Gray’s hair in every possible direction. The sheer volume feels vivid; Kai was right about him needing a haircut.

With the exception of the loud blow-dryer, everything else feels quiet. He wants to ask her what that thing was that she gave Claire, but this would require speaking, and when it’s only him, he sure as hell doesn’t want to start any kind of conversation.

Only when he’s wasted, he will.

Manna isn’t talking... surprisingly, and Gray’s simply thinking. Thinking about what happened last night with Claire and Trent… because something _obviously_ happened. That doctor's as good as dead if he finds out that he laid a fucking finger on her.

Manna abruptly clicks off the dryer, lowering it by her side. He wonders if she’s done, but it isn’t likely, given that his hair is still remotely damp across his forehead and around the nape of his neck. The air feels still around them.

“Sasha, Lillia, even Anna… they all love that doctor,” says Manna faintly. Is she even talking to him, or doing that thing where moms make remarks toward themselves? He stares up at her from his seat in the chair, using the mirror for vision. “They says he makes them feel comfortable. Like his professional bedside manner is just… it makes them feel safe.”

Gray stays silent, listening. The lack of the blow-dryer is what he’ll blame for his skin feeling suddenly cold.

“I’m not convinced, though. I’m not convinced on any of that.” She stares into her own reflection in the mirror now, swallowing hard. “He’s hiding something. I just know it.” She directs her gaze to Gray, tszujing his not-quite-yet dry hair absentmindedly. He doesn’t know what to say.

“He’ll steal her away, you know,” Manna whispers. Her reflection softens at his own. “You’re close to her now… you care so deeply for her, I see it. _Of course_ I see it. I notice these things, even from an antisocial young man like you. But I’m telling you that this doctor won’t want to stay here… in this little town, forever. She’s blinded by love, and she’ll do whatever he says, stay at his beck and call… because he’s manipulated her to be that way.” 

Gray stares straight ahead, in the mirror that houses his own icy reflection. “I wouldn’t lose her,” he finally says, voice stoic and quiet.

“Don’t you ever feel… like sometimes, she’s already slipping away, though?”

His silence is answer enough as it is. 

Manna merely nods. “That’s how it was, the weeks before my Aja left for good. I couldn’t quite place it… but I knew something felt off. Different, y’know? I still… still don’t know what caused her to leave all those years ago. She was only seventeen… but I will bet my last _fucking_ dollar, I will bet the damn _winery_ that it had to do with a boy.” She gets a cold look in her eyes. Why is she telling him this? “No, not… not a boy. A man; an older man. The younger you are, the easier it is to get controlled like that. And my Aja was such a good girl, Gray. She had a good head on her shoulders. Until one day… she just didn’t.”

Manna lifts the blow-dryer one last time, as though she’s been awoken out of her trance. She goes back to work on his hair, ruffling through it, watching the chopped tendrils soar from switched direction to switched direction. “Her and her father had a huge blowout… and that was that. One last fight, and she was just… gone. She couldn’t even look him in the eyes. That’s how I knew it was an older man that got into her head. I don’t even know who it could have been, though.” Manna shakes her head and locks her jaw, flicking on the dryer’s highest setting with such force, that Gray’s sure she’s broken it.

“Keep her away from that doctor, Grayson.” Her voice is surprisingly crystal-clear over the deafening sound of the dryer for this last part. “She’s too naïve, she’d never understand. But keep her away from him. You’ve got to.”

_That’s been the unsuccessful plan all along._

His heart feels like it’s in his stomach. This is why… he doesn’t do social interaction. Where’s the entire fucking bottle of vodka when you need it?

* * *

Claire’s horse that she affectionately named The Bride after her surprising adoration for the _Kill Bill_ series (which Gray thinks is strange, but she loves Uma Thurman… so there’s that) is the first one to register in the races. Saibara’s surprisingly closed up shop for the day so that Gray can attend, and even decided to tag along, too.

He’d be lying if he didn’t mention the fact that he did another shot after his haircut appointment.

“You’re goin’ down, Claire,” Duke tells her, laughing while leaning back on his horse. The animal walks forward, causing him to fall over. 

Karen rolls her eyes, scoffing. “Your ass is going to crush that horse. And you’ve literally never won shit; drinking contests and horse races alike.” She grins, sipping on her beer. “And sorry, Claire, but you totally _are_ going down. I’m placing all my bets on Rick and Cliff.” 

She just rolls her eyes, brushing through The Bride’s thick, dark mane. “Have fun losing all your cash, then!” 

“Jeez, I’m nervous,” Cliff says with a sheepish smile. He’s racing in Barley’s place today, since the old kook doesn’t even know if he’s coming or going.

“Don’t be!” Ann exclaims, patting the gray colt. “You’re gonna freakin’ crush it!” She frowns over at Claire. “How much’s the doc bettin’ on you?”

“Come to think of it,” remarks Karen absently. “I haven’t seen him around town square at all today.”

Claire just shakes her head dejectedly. “Umm… I’m pretty sure he’s still hungover from his birthday yesterday. I don’t even think that he’s woken up yet.” A swipe of disappointment crosses her face, but she just shrugs it away, turning her direction over at Gray brightly. “ _You’re_ putting all of your chips on me though… right?”

He literally laughs in her face, clutching a beer in his fist. He should also mention that this is his third _Heineken_. “You’re fuckin’ _high_ if you think I’m betting all my hard-earned cash on you, Blondie.”

“Hard-earned,” echoes his grandfather with a mutter. He’s literally like ten feet away, how the hell did he hear that? _Gimme a break._

Claire rolls her eyes. “ _Your_ loss.”

“My loss, eh? I dunno if you know this, but I’m out here tryna _make_ money, not lose it-”

“Arghh, shut up, Gray. Did this haircut make you even more intolerab-” 

Karen buries her head in her hands. “Ohhh, my God, can you _both_ shut up? Like, hello? We’re tryna get in the zone here.” She gestures toward her husband’s light brown mare, like this area qualifies as “the zone.” 

Gray just rolls his eyes. “That horse has way less hind-leg conformation like Claire’s. Do you see how Duke and Cliff’s colts have a balanced bone, from the bulb of the hoof to-” 

Claire rubs her hand on her forehead. “Gosh, you’re making me nervous, Gray. And not like in a ‘oh, I’m so worried’ kinda way. Like, you’re totally cheesing me.”

“As if you don’t make me nervous.”

Claire lifts her hands in mock defeat. “Whatevs. Like I said, your money, your loss. At least cheer me on.” 

“Duh.” 

And he places every single last bet on her. 

To his surprise, Rick approaches him by the betting table before the races begin, UMA hat in hand.

“Shoulda given this to you sooner,” he says somberly, fiddling with his glasses and glancing over at his horse. _Damn right._ “I wanted to… apologize. I should have known better… than to say those things. I’m older than you, but I don’t always act it. So… I’m sorry… dude.”

Karen stares at the two of them from far away with half-lidded eyes, watching or commiserating; Gray’s not sure.

That suspicious “fuck-everyone-‘cause-I-can-hold-a-grudge-till-the-day-I-die” demeanor creeps in the back of his mind as he gives Rick a once over. Is he just doing this because he thinks that it’ll give him good karma before the race, or because he’s actually being legit? He simply nods, the hat back in his hands and over his head in a matter of seconds. So much for showing off the new haircut.

“Thanks, man. Appreciate it.” He pauses, not wanting to spit the words out… but figuring it’d be beneficial to his own morale to have Karen off his back. “Sorry too.”

Rick just nods, adjusting his glasses uncomfortably once again, before adding: “I, uh, got a postcard from Pope the other day. Her and… Kai are in Los Angeles. Can you believe it?”

Gray isn’t going to be mentioning that the postcard _he_ received was printed from Kai and Popuri’s first trip to the Hollywood Erotic Museum. Nope, not gonna be mentioning that one to Rick at all.

“Ha, believe it,” Gray says. Karen just tosses her beer in a recycling bin nearby, giving a triumphant nod and smile.

* * *

Cliff wins the first round out of three, with Claire being in dead last.

“You got this,” Gray tells her. He feels like his dad when he used to give him stone-cold advice before all of his rec hockey games. “Don’t worry. No pressure.” 

“Ugh, major pressure, Gray,” Claire says, clutching The Bride’s reigns anxiously. Clearly, her own nerves are translating onto her horse, so Gray just pats the filly’s head, trying to ease it calm. It whinnies and lets out a huff, like a sigh of relief.

“You’re golden. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t you _want_ me to stay in last?” she snaps. _What a hot head she can be_. She’s clearly not in the best of moods… because of secretive reasons. Or, perhaps she actually thinks that Gray really didn’t bet on her to win at all.

He rolls his eyes, ignoring her. Maybe he’s being a tight ass, but _oh well_. “You’re gonna be fine.”

Claire sighs in disappointment. _What the hell even happened last night?_ The way that Gray sees it, the doctor not being here is a best-case kind of scenario for her. That may be biased, but he doesn't care. From atop her horse, she sheepishly reaches into her overall pocket to firmly squeeze an item between her fingers.

“What the hell’s that?”

"Gray, when are you guys gonna take my money?" she asks him instead.

"We're not. What is that?" he repeats.

Claire unscrews her eyelids, looking over at him. It’s a little… bracelet? Anklet? Necklace? Its rosewood red colour burns rich mahogany in the sun, and a small cross dangles from it. “Manna gave it to me.”

“She gave you… beads.”

_“Beads?!”_

“… Prayer… beads?”

“It’s a _rosary_ , Gray. To keep me safe, and hopefully… hopeful, I guess.”

 _So that’s what Manna gave her and Elli._ Feels a little obscure, if you ask him.

Thomas announces that the next round is to commence, and she just musters up a positive smile, ready to begin. He decides to share it back with her, even if she always manages to find a way to be a pain in his ass.

In the second round, she ties for first with Rick. And in the final round...

She comes in first!

Claire’s gripped her reigns, leaning forward and remaining as determined as ever. The Bride propels each quick step into an advanced run, neighing loudly and driving Claire over the finish line before Cliff’s colt gains the speed to do so again. Rick follows, with Duke in last place.

It’s a complete and unbiased win. 

Karen’s mouth hangs open, Ann pumps her fist in the air, and Claire leans over to hug her arms around The Bride, grinning and congratulating her filly on a job well done. Cliff rides over to her and bumps her fist as she jumps off of her horse. Gray uses his arms to steadily catch her, and she holds on to him while he supports the small of her back, laughing giddily.

“I told you!” she yells to him over the noisy crowd. May runs over and hugs her leg, before Rick lifts her up with a smile.

Gray brings his cap over his eyes. “You did.” 

She shrugs, rubbing her knuckles on her chest all slyly. “Well you missed out _big_ time.” 

“You’re so dumb.” He grabs the bet receipt from the pocket of his jeans. Everyone’s beginning to crowd around, meaning that he’s about ready to duck away in a corner to avoid the commotion. “I put all my medals on you.” 

She squints, inspecting the little paper in his hands. “You did?” 

“Course I did.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I knew you’d win. _Duh._ ”

Claire looks up at him all wide-eyed, throwing her arms around his neck with a grateful laugh. And although the crowd is circling the perimeter of them, he stays where he is, smiling too. 

* * *

Worst hangover of his fuckin’ life. 

And _Lord_ , why do his damn ribs hurt? He groans in pain. 

The line rings incessantly beside him. 

“Phone for you,” Elli calls from the other room. She’s humming to herself almost exuberantly… why the hell isn’t _she_ hungover? Didn’t they drink together?

Fuck, he can’t even remember. 

“Who is it?” Trent mutters, but she’s too busy singing to herself to answer him. This pisses him off to no avail.

“’lo?” he manages out groggily, phone lifted and against his ear. 

A deep, almost mechanical voice is on the other end. “Happy belated birthday, son.” 

He frowns, face against the bedspread. His head is throbbing. _Who the hell is this?_ “My birthday’s not until next week.” 

There’s a deep pause on the other line. Motorized, robot-like noises elicit- 

And dear Lord, it’s _Hardy!_ He almost, fucking forgot- 

“Aha, ha, ha.” There’s forced, machine-driven laughter coming from the other line. “Good one, Trent. I keep track of all my student’s medical files, and I happened upon yours. Wanted to wish you well yesterday, but I’ve been swamped here.” 

Trent clears his throat to get rid of the sleepy sound that hovers over it, lowering it an octave. “Yes, well… I, uh, I understand. Thanks, sir.”

“Sir? Come on now, Trent. Why so formal? We’ve known each other long enough.”

Well, that’s not exactly true.

“Of course... Hardy.” That’s what Elli refers to him as, anyway. As well as... others, he presumes. He sits up from his bed, straightening his spine, body feeling worn out and bruised. “Well, thank you for the phone call-”

“You sound different. And you seem a bit... discombobulated.” 

Well, that’s one word. 

“You got me, s- Hardy. Drank like a fish yesterday... had to celebrate with this new girlfriend of mine, you see.” _Change the subject, damn it_. “Actually, I was going to have Elli give you a call regarding a scar revision procedure that said girlfriend would like done. The backside of her is hacked carnage.” 

“Oh, please don’t bother Eleanor with such mundane tasks. Just accompany your new girlfriend for that consultation. It’s been ages since I saw you, sonny.”

 _Sonny._ He’s too good to have demeaning nicknames like these. Maybe… others would be okay with it, but not him.

“Oh... Hardy. I couldn’t, really. You would not believe how busy we are… as I’m sure you are, too. I’m just going to send her on her own.” He tries to further deepen his voice like an act of concealment; he’s not ready to face this man. He’s prepared in _all_ the other aspects, but hasn’t... prepared enough for their “reunion” of sorts. He might stumble on his words, or, the robotic freak could potentially see right through his smokescreen.

“Oh, come now. You wouldn’t do that to an old mentor of yours. It’s been so long. We must catch up, son. I’ve been meaning to come by there... but things have been hectic. Lots of drugs in this realm of town, you know? OD’s occur once every three days at a time, and-” 

“Well, toxidromes caused by a predominant intravenous injection can tend to do that,” he responds bitterly. _When will these idiots learn?_ He’s got no sympathy for a single soul. 

There’s a pause on the other line. 

_Fuck,_ was this the wrong thing to say? He normally condescends because he’s well-aware that he’s the smartest guy in the room, but around Dr. Hardy especially… and around those who knew _him_ before, he’s got to set that aside in order to play the part.

“… Is everything alright, Trent?” Dr. Hardy asks slowly.

He hates that goddamn name. Hates all that it means; all that it represents.

“Of course... I’m just not myself when there’s alcohol in my system. Or, it seems, when I’m apparently another year older to the date.” 

Dr. Hardy chortles out another mechanical laugh. “When it’s less busy, I’ll come to you.” 

He finds himself gritting his teeth. “That really… won’t be necessary, Hardy. When the time is right… and even if that means seasons upon seasons… upon _seasons_ from now, we’ll catch up. The commute is just too long, too inconvenient, and Forget-Me-Not Valley couldn’t go a minute without you. Just as Mineral Town couldn’t go a minute without me.” 

“And Elli,” Dr. Hardy adds. 

He’s about to crack a molar. “Yes, of course. And Elli.” 

He’s taken the precautions. He’ll be convincing and charming _; it’ll all be fine._

“She’s brilliant, you know. She’s like my own daughter,” says Dr. Hardy. _Something,_ occurs inside of Trent when he hears this… well, surely not guilt, because he’s never felt guilty for a damn thing, but it’s more of a discomfort. He doesn’t need to feel bad about anything; what he needs is for this call to have ended about two minutes ago. “Keep her okay, and say hi for me. Haven’t talked to her in a while.” 

“Of course.” It’s because he’s demanded her to ignore his number. “Well, thank you very much for the call. I ought to be going now.” 

“Tending to that old hangover, eh?”

“... Sure.”

“You sound colder, sonny. Everything alright?”

_One cold sonofabitch I am._

“Right as rain.” 

“Well, there’s a new one from you. Aha, ha. Ha. I’m glad the clinic’s hiring committee selected you. I knew I had to put in a good word.” A plethora of robotic noises come from the other line, like Hardy is sorting through files. “I know it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, and even at that, the team’s medical academic conference that I hosted only lasted for a year, but every paper you submitted to my thesis was superb. And on the field… your steady hand was just-”

Trent tries to relax his tremoring body.

“There’s just so much I’d like to discuss with you, sonny. I wish you Mineral Town folks still visited us daily here. It's simply gotten so bad here.” 

“Yes, well… yes. We’re all quite busy like I said, though.” He balances the phone against his ear and shoulder, but he’s shaking so bad that it falls to his lap. He lifts it wearily. “Sorry. Maybe in the future, but it’s just that right now, you know, we’re swamped, as you put it.”

“Soon, though.”

“Yes, soon. We’ll definitely arrange something in advance so that nothing comes up," he says, knowing that organizing something well-beforehand will give him enough time to formulate a perfect excuse.

“Agreed. You know, we don’t have to talk medical jargon all the time – we could easily discuss opinions, or politics, or family. I don’t have one, this you obviously know, but I have absolutely zero knowledge on your own.” 

Is Hardy fishing? Stalling? _What the hell?!_

He grips the phone tighter in his hands. He will _not_ be discussing anything regarding family with Hardy; not now, not ever. His secret will stay a secret until- 

“Hardy, you’re swell, you’ve been swell, but someone just walked into the clinic... yes, Elli? Ah, I’ll be right there.” He readies the phone’s hang up. “Gotta jet, Hardy. Chat soon. Shoot me an email, a letter, a fax… you name it, doctor.” 

Anything non-verbal that won’t put him on the spot.

“Well… understood,” says Hardy, sounding a bit weary. “Talk soon then, Trent.” 

And the line goes dead.

 _Note to self… don’t create a party-drinking narrative on your "birthday". Do it solo on the_ actual _day, so that it still gets recognized – by you, and you alone._

* * *

Elli clicks her line off, too. _Why is Trent so nervous to talk to Hardy, let alone, see him?_ Why did he sound so... confused? Why did lie to get off the phone?

She must have drugged him way too hard last night.

_… Good._

She hears his dwindling footsteps coming closer, and runs from the receiver, pretending as though she wasn’t just eavesdropping the call. Elli quickly lifts up Trent’s clipboard and pen, as though she’s deeply pondering the content on it. He enters the room unsteadily, and she remains completely nonchalant – just as she’s rehearsed.

“Oh, good!” She tightens her mouth into a fake smile. “You’re up.” 

Yeah, right. " _Good."_ Fuck this guy to hell.

“What happened?” he mutters. 

Elli bats her chocolate eyes, tucking the clipboard in the crook of her elbow. She pushes a tuft of her short hair behind her ear. “What ever do you mean?”

“Yesterday evening,” Trent growls.

“You had far too much to drink last night,” she explains, _tsking_ to herself. She would have never addressed him like this before… but oh, when those results come back, she is taking him the _fuck_ down. “I know you don’t like hearing my medical opinions, as I _am_ just a mere nurse, but cirrhosis of the liver is no laughing matter, doctor!” 

“I told you to screen his number. I don’t want to fuckin' be speaking to him if I don’t have to be.” 

Elli tilts her head, feigning confusion like she didn’t just listen in on the whole call. “But, doctor. _You_ answered without prompting me who it was.”

Trent ignores this, because she’s right. _Obviously._ She knows way more about literally everything than him. He’s such a disgusting idiot.

“Feels like I got hit by a fuckin’ truck.”

“If only.”

“Hmmhm?” Trent narrows his bloodshot eyes at her sharply. As though this action pains his brain, he grabs his head, rubbing it while wincing.

Elli raises her eyebrows. “ _If only_ you didn’t fall, _doctor_.”

“I blacked out. I don’t remember a damn thing.”

She nods, her chin dipping up and down. Even though they didn’t do _anything_ together yesterday, she starts to get inventive. “You just went so hard on me last night...” 

Trent stares at her dizzily. He grips the countertop to steady his body. “I’ve never fucked when I’m blacked out.”

 _As if!_ Just _wait_ till those results come back. 

“Yeah, well I’m sure that’s not true,” Elli says coolly. “Actually, I know that’s not true. _I_ was completely sober.”

Trent stares at her, callous and hard. “Haven’t. And I likely couldn't... as in... physically." He glares at her, but he's still swaying. "Plus, where's the fun in that? I won’t remember a thing.” He rubs at his sore ribcage. What Elli wouldn’t give to dig the toe of her shoe into his skin again. “I remember every lay.”

 _Riiight._ Oh, he is in for one _rude_ awakening.

“Claire called four times, by the way, and I think that she even tried to stop by,” Elli tells him, trying to end this conversation. He sickens her to her core, and playing nice for this long hasn't been easy. “Something about the horse races.”

Trent just lets out a long string of curses. He slams his hand on the counter, before shaking his arm out painfully from the blow. That’s the one she drew blood from. _Ha._

“Fuck me,” he snaps. “I can’t catch a break, can I?” He storms out of the room, running his hands through his hair and muttering as he paces around.

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothing yet,” she murmurs under her breath.

* * *

“How long are you going to be upset for?”

Claire looks up from her plate, fork dwindling in the green salad before her. It’s a few days later, and she’s still mad at her boyfriend. As a romantic gesture, Trent offered to order dinner for her tonight, even though she told him no, and that she could handle it herself. He still did, and it’s only made her even more irritated, because he picked… wait for it, drumroll please: a _garden_ salad (“hold the croutons”). As the great Boston comedian John Pinette once said: “salad is not food. Salad comes _with_ the food. Salad is the promissory note that food will soon _arrive_.” So, yeah, not too thrilled with his dinner selection for her either. Doesn’t Trent know her at all?

She simply doesn’t bother answering him.

“Claire,” he says sharply.

Normally, she’d respond with a, “what are you talking about?” or a, “oh, no, I’m not upset,” but her period is coming, and frankly, she’s pissed to hell. “For as long as I feel like being,” Claire finally snaps.

A vein in Trent’s forehead throbs. “Don’t you get mouthy with me like that.”

“Whatever.” She places her fork down, a clattering noise erupting against the ceramic plate. She’s honestly more hurt and upset than angry. And now, she’s hungry too. This salad takes her back to dieting days in high school, when lettuce was all that she would eat. “I don’t understand why you have a hard time comprehending _the reason_ I’m upset.”

“Because you thought I’d make an appearance at the town horse races.”

“I _thought_ you’d just be there for me. All of my friends were.”

“Oh, _all_ your friends were, hm?” She knows where he’s going with this. He takes a bite of his own Caesar salad before swallowing and nodding. “How nice. You don’t have to rudely smear that in my face, love."

“I’m not being rude. I’m telling you why I’m not happy at the moment.”

“Well, I’m glad your friends are the ones who bring you this source of happiness,” Trent sneers.

“Do not twist my words,” Claire says, blinking back frustrated tears. _Just plain frustrated._ The sounds of the inn, and other people dining around them elicits in her ears, causing her to realize that she can’t just lose it like this in public.

“It’s exactly as it’s coming out, though,” says Trent coldly, taking a sip from his second glass of white wine. Claire just stares at him.

_Are some people just absolutely incapable of ADMITTING THEIR FAULTS?_

She narrows her eyes cuttingly, leaning back in her seat with a scoff. “Look, I just really thought that you’d wanna support me. That’s all.”

His voice is bitter and mean. “Support you like a certain someone does.”

“Trent, come _on._ I’m telling you how I feel here.”

“You’re overreacting. Anyone could have forgotten.”

“But you’re my _boyfriend._ And it was on all of the town calendars… _and_ I told you about it weeks ago!”

“Well, I was a little tied up, _love._ ”

“Oh, please. You were drunk out of your mind the night before.”

Trent’s knuckles go white as he grips the wine glass. A dark look spans across his handsome face, making him look horrifically nasty. “Are we forgetting about the times that _you_ have not been there for _me_? Are we forgetting about the other night? The let down on my… birthday?”

A look of forgotten realization blooms across Claire’s face. Her cheeks flame. She’s been so busy focusing her irritation on him, that she completely forgot about the fact that she left their night in tatters. “I said I was sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin it.”

“And yet it doesn’t change the outcome of the night.” He places his wine glass down hard, and a slosh of it manages to spill out onto the tablecloth. It leaves a light yellow stain on the tablecloth.

She already feels bad enough; why is it when he’s done something wrong, he brings up things that she’s done to lighten his blame-load? Talk about deflection.

Or maybe, denying him sex on his birthday was worse than him missing some stupid horse races, as he’s put it.

Trent takes a brief moment to unclench his jaw, softening his cross expression. “I apologize, okay? We’re both… in the wrong, in one way or another. But I’m here to make it better.” He reaches for her hand across the table, thumb brushing against her forearm. She stares down at it.

“You don’t have to always buy me stuff, or take me out, or spend money to make things better, y’know,” Claire says slowly. “It’s not about… the horse races, it’s about the fact that you weren’t there for _me_. I just want you present in my life more, Trent.”

His thumb presses hard against her sleeved arm. “And I want the same thing from you.”

She feels so exasperated. Does he really believe that? She tries so hard to be a good girlfriend, and sometimes, the way that he portrays her makes her feel less than ideal. Does she deserve this? “But I _am_ there for you.”

“Well, as you like to say, there’s no need to invalidate my feelings.”

“I’m not,” she argues.

“Claire,” says Trent sternly. He drums one set of knuckles on the table. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore, alright? I’ve said my piece, and I am done.” With an expectant look, he patiently nods at her.

She sucks up a breath, finding it in her to try and relax a bit. “Alright, well… again, I’m sorry too, then.” Claire pauses, before glancing down at the table. Ann is wandering around them, pretending to be busy, because Trent denied complimentary bread from her four times prior. She prays that she can telepathically understand that this bread needs to be brought ASAP. “And... thank you for this dinner. You really didn’t have to take me out.”

Trent snatches her hand now, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. “I just need you to always know how serious I am about you.”

Claire remains slightly unphased. “Actions speak louder than words, y’know.”

He blinks, before gradually agreeing. “A very honest statement that can easily be applied to the both of us.” He gives her skin another kiss, lips lingering for a hare too long. “Have you given what I asked of you some thought?”

The colour on Claire’s face blushes to a darker crimson. Maybe it _is_ better that they’re out tonight, and not cooped up alone inside. “Of course I have,” she lies.

Trent releases her hand, flashing her one of his signature, dazzling smiles that could melt through ice. She wills herself to let go of her vexation. “I love you, you know.”

“I love you, too,” Claire concedes, falling victim to that pearly smile yet again. She cares so deeply for him; she just wants to be loved and handled with the same kind of care as well.

“Isn’t that better?” he asks.

“You two sure you don’t want _any_ bread?” Ann comes over to them, lifting Claire’s water glass up to refill it up with a forced smile. She sets it down, looking at her keenly for a response.

“No,” Trent starts with a wave of his hand. “The carb count is far too-”

“Thanks, Ann. Bread would be amazing,” says Claire, giving her friend a grin. “With like, marinara or something.”

Ann winks, departing.

Claire offers Trent a smile. “ _Now_ it’s better.”

He feebly returns the gesture back. “I don’t want to feel you slipping away,” he tells her, squeezing her wrist tightly. 

Claire’s mouth goes into a tight line, but finds her expression softening. Her overworked hands find their way over his own. “Then just don’t let me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long break everyone. I really needed my time. My dog ended up passing away... and I'm honestly still not okay about it all. I miss him so much. Like, I knew it was going to hurt, but the literal pain in my heart is unimaginable... I just didn't prepare myself properly. Tbh, I don't know if it would have even been possible for me to prepare myself regarding this. What I do know is that it hasn't gotten easier, but the empty ache is becoming more tolerable, if that makes any sense. I was a mess for days; I'm still kind of a mess if we're being real with each other. I know he isn't suffering anymore, and that he's running around doggy heaven with an endless supply of well-deserved Milk-Bones, but holyyy smokes, does it ever hurt. I was so grateful for his love, because he truly was my family. My mind often drifts to the Hamilton lyrics: "I can't wait to see you again... it's only a matter of time" when I think about him, and then I just start crying all over again. But he was weak; and the vet said that it was time. He was such a good boy, the best boy around, and I love him with my whole heart. I just feel like I've lost a really important, good part of me now that he's gone. But I'm so lucky that I got to feel his unconditional love.  
> Thank you all for your patience and kind words and care. If you've ever loved a pet, you'll know they're family. It really means the world to me <3 I'm so sorry for my absence. I'm back to getting these chapters out, and I hope that you guys are still willing to read them 🙂
> 
> Alright, onto the chapter itself. It may seem a bit uneventful, but I think there's a lot unfurled in there. I've been planning Gray's haircut since Kai mentioned he needed one in chapter 29 haha. Manna is a nosy queen, Rick had his moment of redemption, and Trent is a suspicious ********. What's he hiding? 🤔
> 
> Sidenote: that gaslighting and controlled manipulation he displayed in that last little bit? I HATE writing that shit, it makes me feel so gross, but it's SO easy for abusers to twist people's perceptions around like that. Especially when in relationships. Hate to see it.
> 
> Last thing: watch some John Pinette comedy if you're ever feeling down. I'm not even lying with the fact that you will literally laugh out loud from it!! He was such a talented comedian.
> 
> Thanks again ya'll. I appreciate every single one of you 🧡 Sorry if I came across as very dramatic in the first bit, it's just how I've been feeling. For so many of us, 2020 is really just ✨not it✨
> 
> Get ready for Gray's bday in the next chapter :)) Promise it'll be more eventful!!!


	33. The Pattern of Self-Destructive Behaviour

Some days she’ll feel closer than others, like the moon easily pulling the tide in without any effort. They’ll talk and she’ll laugh and he’ll be reminded of the fact that not everything sucks. There is just so much to love about her; she inadvertently makes him feel like it’s acceptable to be alive and breathing on this earth.

But then there are other days when she is without reach, like Trent: her whole sun and stars has completely engulfed her. Far away, ghosted, unavailable in every essence of the word. 

The week and days leading up to Gray’s birthday are really what resemble the latter.

_And it’s a fucking trash time in general._

They just feel worlds apart. Manna was right; she really is slipping.

It’s that transition between the fall and the winter; when the time-zones change, when the world gets darker quickly, when the mood drops, and when the weather can’t help but resemble his cold little heart. It’s the lack of her talking to him before his nineteenth; distant responses and busy schedule making it very apparent that even though she will always be his number one choice, he doesn’t possess that same label in her own mind. It’s the fact that even though he _knows_ he shouldn’t have gotten so attached to her in their time together, he still fucking did anyway. He tells himself that not meeting her at all would be better than losing her; that he’s always just been better off on his own.

Gray wishes that she wasn’t the only good thing that’s helped to remind him that he’s sentient. He wishes that he had more excuses to help him channel his ability to feel, but he doesn’t and that’s why he clings to her so pathetically. He’s a fucking idiot for allowing himself to show this vulnerability – _Christ’s sake._

The evening before his birthday, he’s home alone, blasting old Green Day CD’s when a knock hits the front door. He doesn’t bother lowering the volume upon answering, even though his grandfather would likely kill him for not considering that it could be a customer at the door. But the old man’s not even here, so whatever. Besides, it’s not a customer: it’s her, clothed in a thrifted winter jacket from some men’s department that’s clearly two sizes too big for her. Snow is falling down from the dark, clouded sky, coating the top of her beanie and the ends of her hair with white frosting. Her cheeks are pinched pink.

“Hi,” Claire yells over the music.

He reaches behind him to turn the knob of his radio down. “What is it?”

She scoffs. “What do you mean, ‘what is it?’”

“Sorry. _Long time no see._ ” Gray leans on the doorframe, the draft frigid against his skin. He should go throw on a clean long-sleeved shirt or a hoodie, instead of just wearing some old tank, but he hasn’t gotten around to doing his laundry yet.

Claire just rolls her eyes at his dumb comment. “Whatever.”

“You’re gettin’ me cold,” he says gruffly. “Come in. It’s fuckin' freezing.”

Her expression softens. “I can’t… I’m in the middle of something-”

 _Big surprise there._ “Shocker.” It feels like he hasn’t seen her in awhile; she’s not training or running with him anymore outside, given the below zero weather. He’s still doing it though… as an attempt to at least try and feel something.

Claire’s face twists all annoyed-like, walking past him and kicking her snowy boots against the carpet defiantly, as if to prove a point. “Look, I have to go, but I just wanted to give you this.” She reaches into her oversized coat pocket to produce a light purple envelope, jutting it toward his chest. His only assumption is that she’s gifting him with some card for his birthday right now, given that she’s probably busy and won’t be able to see him tomorrow.

She actually hasn’t even mentioned his birthday at all, not once. Not like he even cares to celebrate it anymore… but damn.

He glowers at the card, making no motion to take it. “What’s this?”

“Payment for my tools, and a final payment for that maker shed I ordered from you guys.”

 _Wow._ Gray pushes it away back to her, trying to mask any kind of emotion from his voice. “Keep it.”

Claire just tightens her mouth into a thin line, firmly clutching the envelope while marching right past him. She walks over to Saibara’s workstation, sliding the card through a crack in his desk drawer; it glides in with ease. “There. It’s done.”

He scowls at her. “You’re stupid.”

“No, _you’re_ stupid. I’m not keeping a freaking tab with you guys.”

“You think we need the money or something, Blondie?”

He knows her all too well, because she keeps her sapphire eyes very steady on his to avoid unintentionally glancing around the shop’s tattered paint, worn-out drywall, or crumbling popcorn ceiling that quite figuratively scream: _“YES, we need the money.”_

“I don’t think that,” she says, but her gaze accidentally finds its way over his shoulder, to a hole in the wall. She snaps it back forward like she’s just committed a horrible transgression. “Look, I order something, I pay for it – bottom line.”

“And how about when you bring us eggs or milk or dough, and then you refuse to take our cash?”

“My gosh, Gray. Don’t offend me. I care about you guys; I do that stuff just ‘cause.”

“You care, eh?”

“... You’re impossible.”

“Whatever.”

Claire seats herself against the edge of his own work desk. “So, for tomorrow…”

“Mhm.”

“Can you bring that maker-thing over to my house? Like, in the evening? I’m busy throughout the day.”

He stares at her, really stares at her. “You’re serious.”

“Why would I not be serious?”

Gray just nods. “Ah-huh.”

“So, you’ll do it?”

“Not like I got anything better to do.” He turns from her, pretending to rifle through a drawer in order to keep himself busy right now. Why the hell is there a sharp pain in his chest all of the sudden? Like he said, it’s not like he gives a fuck about his birthday.

Not like she gives a fuck about it, either.

Claire watches his movements blankly. “Are you going out tonight?”

“Out where?” he snaps.

“I dunno… to the inn or something?”

“Why the hell would I?”

“I’m making conversation, Gray.”

“Yeah, no.” He shuts the drawer loudly, hands gripping the wood. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

She nods slowly. “Alright, well, night then.”

His mouth is dry and he’d love to be by himself right about now. He just wants her gone. He needs to be alone; everything’s better when he’s alone. And if he’s ever thought differently to that fact, then he deserves a clean shot to the head.

Gray manages to gesture toward his grandfather’s workstation, where her stupid payment-envelope now resides. “Don’t go pulling that shit again.”

“You’re really mad at me, huh?” she states.

“Get lost. You got more important things to do and more important people to deal with.”

Claire shakes her head at him. “You’re making this whole thing so difficult.”

 _This whole thing._ Like that’s not her doing. He walks over to the front of the shop, opening the door while gesturing for her to leave. “Bye.”

Her mouth goes to the inside of her cheek, chewing nervously. “Please don’t be so angry.”

Gray just releases the doorknob, walking away from Claire silently because he’s tired of the cold. His back is to her as he blasts his radio once again, listening as she pulls on their old, creaky door that’s in serious need of some _WD40_ , seeing herself out. He doesn’t know what expression she’s wearing on her face when she leaves; he tells himself that he doesn’t care.

 _Y’know what, no._ She often helps him to forget about it, but Gray is _well_ aware that everything fucking sucks; he just doesn’t dare confront it. Because if he lays out on the table his dad’s countless relapses, his mother’s pulse taken too quickly from this earth, his unrequited feelings for a girl who’s got no business in loving him back, then it'll consume him.

_It’s just that being alive is sometimes more fucking hard than it isn’t._

It’s hard for him to actually comprehend how shit things have gotten; or, have they always been shitty, but the shittiness just cultivated more and more as the years went on? It’s hard for him to go out and socialize; that’s why he forces alcohol into his system to do so. It’s hard for him to listen to his grandfather’s criticism, because the take-home message is always _“don’t end up like your damn father.”_ It’s hard for him to face the fact that he and his mom share a birthday around the same time, and it would feel like a sin to even remotely try and celebrate when she’s six feet under and gone and decaying – and he’s sick of it, sick of it all. Sick of being unhappy, sick of the anxiety, sick of people telling him to lighten up – sick of _people_ in general. He wants all of the doubt and the white noise to stop but it just won’t and you’re not supposed to have people be the reason that you even want to be breathing but Claire is that reason for him, she is the only thing who provides him with that reason, and he’s fucked up royally because _how goddamn sad is that?_ He just wants a valium, wants to fall into a dreamless sleep where he won’t be required to wake-up and this part is not because of her, _please don’t get it fucking twisted_ ; deep down he’s always wanted this because the baggage that comes with life sometimes just gets heavier and heavier – too heavy, even for him.

His music is absolutely blaring and he can’t fucking see or think straight. They don’t have any benzos, but they _do_ have a brand-new bottle of _Jack Daniels_. He doesn’t _want_ a drink, he needs and _requires_ a drink to stop himself from shaking or feeling queasy – and if that doesn’t make sense to you then oh well. Gray fumbles through their cabinet with the image of his mother decaying still projected in his mind; it’s causing him to shake and his breathing is shallowed and this feels familiar but what the _fuck is happening._ He needs this goddamn drink.

Locates the bottle, hijacks the bottle, twists the cap of the bottle and downs it straight like that, like Gray is sixteen again and Kai has dragged him to a house party, and he’s making do with it by drinking his mind away, which helps him let loose and inevitably gets him laid and the girl will say something like, _“guess you’re not so mean, huh?”_ and he’ll probably never call her again which earns him a reputation as a heartbreaker at his high school but this really just means an asshole in camouflage and Jesus, what the _fuck_ is wrong with him?

Through his bottle-searching, he’s managed to knock the family photo album off of its ledge. It falls from the top of the cabinet, sprawled open to that ancient picture his mother took, where his father and Uncle Kurt are holding the younger version of him by their Christmas tree, faces inscribed with happiness.

_That can’t really be the case, though._

He downs a quarter of the whiskey, throat burning and eyes searing.

Standing there in the dark, nursing a bottle in one hand and picking up this photo album in the other, he realizes that maybe he wasn’t ever happy; maybe he just wasn’t overtly _sad_ at one point in time.

Gray slams the pictures away, head already pounding. Shutting his radio off, he strains himself to his room, precariously replaying a DVD of that action movie sequel that he could care less about on his T.V. Just watches the screen, thinks about her, contemplates everything regarding his shitty life, takes a swig. 

Rinse and repeat. 

_Cheers, eh._

* * *

There’s three things that you have to know about Gray: two of which you may have already picked up on, and one that his mother took to her grave. This fact is something that he doesn’t know whether to be grateful of or not.

The first is that… well, listen, he’s got to just come out and say it… get ready… he REALLY doesn’t like people. _Jeez_ , that felt good to finally get off of his chest. Sarcasm aside, Gray hates people. And not in the edgy sort of way that makes you sound deeper than you really are; no. He really does not fuck with people. It’s a Holden Caufield kinda hate (hold the angst). Like, if Gray had to go the rest of his life without talking to a new person ever again… well that’d just be okay with him. And while he has met a group of alright people close to his age here in Mineral Town, he’s just a lone wolf at heart. A few of the adults chalk up his blatant, deadpanned sarcasm as quick wit, while most of the others simply write him off as a troubled punk who found his dad OD’d days after his mom’s funeral.

Doesn’t help that he’s also one cold-hearted, mean motherfucker, with a bitter attitude and a hatred toward the, “ _well, now you’re stuck here”_ type of situation that he got dealt with.

The second thing is that Kai was his only real friend back in Chicago. And it’s strange, because Gray was actually considered to be popular in high school, but that was just ‘cause everyone loved Kai and he got associated by default. He has Ann and Claire now, but before them, even his hockey teammates or boxing trainees didn’t count for shit; Kai was his first and only true friend. Looking like a huge asshole (and behaving like one) gained Gray the bad boy reputation in their group, and then he’d go to Kai’s many parties and drink his way out of his shell. He got wasted, felt lax, and suddenly girls weren’t so afraid to be near such a mean-looking guy; plus, sex was sex, so he was totally okay with that. Most of them were just hookups, one of them became a girlfriend, but none of them love. He didn’t even share half of the shit with any of them that he did with Claire. But he was fine with fucking and smoking and drinking and replicating this routine over and over and when his only girlfriend got sick of him, well, yeah it hurt but it’s not like he gave her much incentive to stay. He was just always so _angry_ deep down, so emotionally detached, but go figure that he was able to open up to Claire like it was nothing, huh?

Honestly, he’s grateful for Kai, because if he’d moved to Mineral Town without him, he likely would have never spoken to another single soul ever again. He’s always been grateful to have Kai around. When no one would talk to Gray in middle school because they were weary of how callous he looked, or afraid that he’d pick a fight – considering he got suspended for doing so previously – Kai (an isolated kid who got made fun of for being mixed) befriended him. And then he got popular, and Gray used his athleticism, quick sarcastic wit, and newfound Rebel-Without-A-Cause rep to stay at the top of the food chain with him. Not that Kai would have ever ditched him, but high school is a whole lot easier to exercise recreational drug use and alcohol overconsumption when you’re invited to those kinds of parties for it. So, the bottom line is that while he does hate people, there’s a small percentage of him that… doesn’t, and he knows this makes him sound like a literal, hypocritical Holden Caufield… so, there’s that for you. Gray’s always felt like this, though: a walking contradiction. His good moods are sporadic, his anger and sadness annihilate him. If he overthinks it, it’ll engulf him, so it’s best to leave it lost in the literal _grey_ area of himself.

The third is that his mom would be so disappointed in him. Disappointed in her husband obviously, but more disappointed in him. She always loved him, and it was only after she literally saved his life that he fully comprehended how truly lucky he was to have a mother that loved him so much. For someone as selfless as her to have felt such excruciating pain in the end… she didn’t deserve that shit. If it were to happen to anyone, it should have happened to a sorry fuck like him. And maybe that’s why he tries to kill himself with substances a little more each time; but who knows anymore. It’s just that if she saw the stack of letters in his room that his dad writes to him, the ones that go unread and unaddressed, or if she witnessed his self-destructive behaviour, she’d be Grade-A pissed. And Greek people are pretty scary when they’re pissed, in case you weren’t aware.

That’s what there is to know about Gray. Maybe there’s more.

But he honestly isn’t sure.

* * *

Gray sleeps in the next day until apparently five on his birthday. He is hungover as fuck, head smushed between pillows to try and block out any or all exposure to the atmosphere. There’s a knock at his door, and his grandfather’s voice pipes up.

He automatically groans. 

“Hurry the hell up, kid. Now. Claire’s waiting on that delivery.”

“Wha fuckin’ delivery.”

“The maker shed. Time’s a wastin’.”

 _Ah, man._ How the hell is he going to function? How’s he gonna carry that huge thing all inebriated like this? Coffee sure as _hell_ won’t suffice.

…

Well, he’s still got some…

…

And he hasn’t touched it since-

…

Not the first time he’s done a line on his birthday. 

_Sure as hell won’t be the last._

Okay, maybe not a line. Maybe he just needs a bump, that’s it. He throws the pillows off of his head, cringing when the little crack of light from the window hits his eyes. With shaky hands, he fumbles through his sock drawer.

Produces a white bag.

Reaches for his house key on the dresser, sits up from his bed.

Dips the golden brassy shape into the powdered snow.

And brings it to his nose, miniscule particles of it falling onto his leg. He snorts it or inhales it or whatever the fuck you wanna write it off as, he just does it.

Almost like instinct.

And Gray’s feeling worlds better already.

Maybe not better; maybe just numb. The cocaine seeps its way into his nostrils, burning, travelling, and hitting his central nervous system immediately.

His grandfather scoffs outside his door impatiently. Panicked, Gray grabs the empty bottle of Jack Daniels from his floor and then places it, along with the blow, back in his sock drawer, shutting it with wired hands.

“Kid,” Saibara says, pushing open the door with his elbow. “Hurry it the hell up.”

Gray doesn’t meet his eye, reluctantly rising, each of his movements careful and deliberate so that he doesn’t let on a single goddamn thing _._

“Hold the phone,” Saibara starts.

“What?” he groans.

“You’re not seriously goin' over there looking like something the cat dragged in, right?”

“It’s just a _delivery-”_

“You’re representin’ Mineral Blacksmith wherever you go. Shower, nice clothes, now.”

Gray makes a face. “I’ll throw on some clean work clothes-”

“ _Now_ , Grayson. Don’t make us look bad.”

He’s wired on coke, can’t look any worse.

Why the fuck’s he gotta dress _nice_ though. Can’t he just live his life in track pants all day, every day?

“Besides,” says his grandfather, lifting Claire’s invoice order up to the light. He inspects it, before tapping the date at the top and flipping it over on display for him. “It’s your birthday. Try to make the best outta today.”

Gray just snorts. The room is fuzzy. “Yeah. Happy birthday to me.”

Saibara stares at him like he’s some kind of moron. The real moron is the old dude telling him to try and look presentable on a day just like any other day. “Shower. Nice clothes. Now.”

* * *

Her door is left unlocked – how many times is it that he’s told her to fix the goddamn thing? He pushes it open with his shoulder, the maker shed weightless in his arms. Though he’s still hungover, the blood pumping in his veins tells him that he’s fit enough to run a fucking marathon right about now.

It’s just that the shouting and screaming from Claire’s dark house makes him wonder if he accidentally snorted a crushed-up acid pill instead.

_“SURPRISE!!”_

It’s a wonder he doesn’t drop the fucking machinery on her floor. The lights flicker on, and a slew of familiar faces beam right back at him. There’s helium-less, colourful balloons scattered across her floor, rainbow streamers hanging from the ceiling, and decretory party favours sprinkled everywhere.

He’s dumbfounded. 

Claire rushes over to him, taking the bottom of the maker contraption and lowering it slowly onto her floor. She wraps her arms around him tightly, grinning at him all bright and pretty and the room is fucking spinning. “Happy birthday, Gray!” 

So, she didn’t forget. 

_… Well, shit._

“You remembered,” he states, mouth agape. Does he look very high right now? He’s wired and alert but... Jesus, can she tell he’s loaded? 

“You thought I’d actually _forget?”_ Claire shakes her head at him with a smile. She’s got on a grey long sleeve and some tattered 90's-style jeans that show off her curves. Her long hair is pulled back in a yellow braid. “I was trying so hard not to crack yesterday, I had to play it off so you wouldn’t get suspicious! I felt really bad being such a jerk to you, but I’ve been planning this all week!”

“Plus, when are _you_ not a jerk? Talk about a taste of your own medicine,” says Ann lightheartedly, holding onto the end of a balloon. “Happy birthday, dude.”

Claire smiles at him expectantly, but Gray just stares at her. His damp, nearly frozen hair clings to the nape of his neck, and he’s suddenly not cold at all.

“What up, my guy?”

_It’s... Kai?_

He emerges from the side of Claire’s kitchen, Popuri glued to his waist with a smug grin written over his mouth.

“We’re here for the holidays,” Popuri sings, holding onto Kai a bit tighter. She’s not sickly pale anymore; instead, tanned and beaming. His friend's ditched his signature bandana, and has his curls moussed all freely, accompanied with a happy twinkle in his eyes.

“We called Claire when we were in Cali and said we’d make it for your nineteenth.”

“And we actually went up to Vancouver for a bit, sooo…” Popuri hands him a card with a Canadian flag on it, that literally just says, _‘HAPPY 19 TH! CAN I ‘OFFICIALLY’ OFFER YOU A BEVERAGE?’_

“The drinking age there is nineteen,” says Kai with a laugh. “That’s… that’s literally the joke.”

“It’s also the legal drinking age in South Korea,” Karen chimes in. “Fun fact my dad told me.”

“And yet here you are, in the United States, drinking two years _under_ age,” Elli adds. Gray is surprised that she’s even here, given that she never allows herself to go out and do anything fun. But, she’s been in a better mood for the last couple of weeks actually. “Though everyone knows that the _unofficial official_ drinking age in Mineral Town is like, sixteen.” She winks. The perks of being an unincorporated town in the middle of nowhere with a winery listed as its top business.

“Cheers,” says Cliff, lifting his red solo cup. Claire holds two in her hands, handing him one and toasting her own up to the sky. Karen whoops, and although her husband next to her refuses to even look at Kai, he seems pretty okay now that his sister’s back.

“This is why I didn’t want you to go to the inn yesterday, either,” Claire tells him, raising her voice over the music that Popuri has cranked up. “I didn’t want you to know Kai was here!”

“Oh,” is his brilliant reply. His head is rushing but he feels so numb right now, it isn’t even funny.

Rick shuffles some cards in the corner next to a smiling Elli, as Cliff gets himself another mixed drink. “Wanna play?”

“Let’s go, we’re the best at 'President',” says Kai, grabbing his shoulder.

“Teach me that one!” Claire exclaims, tugging on Gray’s arm. She bends down to hand him a whimpering Maggie, who immediately stops her whining upon him scratching her ears. Everything, literally everything is loopy.

But he just feels like he’s on cloud nine.

“Oh,” she adds, handing him a black album with a red heart hand grenade on it. “I ordered this from Jeff, it came out in the fall but it arrived in time for your birthday. Go _Walmart_!”

Gray takes it from her with his free hand, squinting. He’s so fucking hungover and high that he can barely make out the writing without getting all dizzy. “This is Green Day’s new album?”

“Yup. _American Idiot._ Because I totally rock.”

He gives her a smile. “You really do, Blondie. Thanks.”

* * *

Claire looks over at him wildly, tilting her head like she’s inspecting him under a microscope. She stops getting their Pornstar shot ready mid-pour. “Jeez, your pupils are huge right now!”

Gray is air guitaring with Kai, shrugging at her over the loud rock music. The album fucking slaps. “Really? Didn’t notice.”

He rises from his knees as she hands him the blue drink quizzically. But they _cheers_ each other like tradition, and this is her first/ only shot of the night while it’s his sixth. She makes a face at the taste like she always does, before sharing a smile with him. He’s fucked right now and it’s just getting worse and worse. Or better and better… _whatever._

Elli and Cliff go outside with Claire as she takes Maggie out. Ann stops cleaning up the playing cards for a moment, walking over to him with a squint in her eyes.

“How high are you right now?”

Gray tips his drink over at her sloppily. “It’s _hi_ … how are you-”

Kai straightens himself up next to him, lifting the lid of one of Gray’s eyes. “Jeez, you’re completely fried.”

Gray just shrugs again, brushing his hand off. “Whatever.”

“On what? Blow?”

He nods.

Kai swears under his breath. “Oy gevalt. We said we weren’t gonna touch that shit after junior year.”

“Half of us kept that promise.”

“Junior year?!” Ann exclaims. She lowers her tone to a more hushed one, even though it’s just Karen, Rick, and Popuri chatting on the couch right now. “The fuck happens in Chicago?”

“Lots ‘n lots,” says Gray, downing back another drink. _Clearly._

She scoffs, shaking her head at him, _like she’s forgetting her own patterns of self-destructive behaviour._ “What were you thinking? You couldn’t just like, smoke some weed or something?” 

“I don’t got any weed.” 

“Well, do _not_ tell Claire this.” 

Gray just smiles dopily. “It’s _my_ birthday ‘n I’ll ruin my life if I wanna.”

She wouldn’t be mad at him over this.

_… Right?_

“You’re dumb as hell,” scoffs Ann, reading his mind. “She was like, part of her high school _D.A.R.E._ club that focused on eliminating teen crack-usage.” 

“It’s not _crack_ -” 

“And she knows about your dad. She’ll kill you!” Ann glares at him in annoyance. “Do _not_ let on that you’re stoned outta your mind.” Annoyed, she saunters away to the couch, rolling her eyes back at him and rubbing them with her middle fingers.

“Yo,” whispers Kai, slipping him a yellow-and-red _Kodak_ envelope. “Here. My mom developed the pics for me. You _might_ wanna look through ‘em, though, before Claire sees.” He leaves him to it, pulling Popuri away from the group, despite Rick’s irritated sigh.

Gray frowns as he leans up against the wall, jiggling his leg rapidly while thumbing through the pictures. They feel like they were taken decades ago, even though it’s only been two seasons since. His hands are still tremoring all unsteady, but he just relishes in this weightless, buzzed feeling. It’s like his seventeenth birthday and his prom afterparty all rolled into one, when he told himself that line after line was a good idea because it numbed and heightened everything all at the same time. Combine that with hard liquor, and he wouldn’t have to even worry about trying to remember the night, because he’d be beyond the black-out point. He would just take whatever was offered to him to feel something and nothing simultaneously. Never anything intravenous, though, ‘cause _that_ shit fucks with you. He’ll just… do all the other stuff that… still fucks with you.

The pictures aren’t hard to focus in on at all: there’s the one Kai “accidentally” snapped when he first told them to pose: him and Claire in disagreement about something _(what else is new?)._ Next is her flashing a peace sign, with him grinning right back, and he never realized how much smiling just softens his features. Makes him appear more human. Then there’s them two with Kai, camera pointed back at their faces, and- 

_Ah, Christ._

The blood is pounding in his ears, because here is candid after candid after candid after candid that Kai took, about a dozen to be exact, where Gray is just looking over at Claire longingly and she doesn’t even realize it. There’s them arguing over the Taboo buzzer, there’s the two of them caught mid-blink, and then there’s his personal favourite: Claire pulled onto Trent’s lap, while he’s caught in the corner, throwing some major cut-eye at the sonuvabitch.

“What’s that?” Claire asks, suddenly very close to him. She brushes the fallen snowflakes off of her arms, shivering from being outside with her dog.

Gray widens his eyes, retrieving a picture of her, Karen, Popuri, Ann, and Cliff from the stack. He hands it to her swiftly as she looks at it, and using this as a distraction, manages to pocket all of the candids in the back of his jeans. He tries to be as nonchalant as possible, even though the room is back to spinning.

“Pictures from your birthday,” he explains, holding out the remaining ones.

“Aw, sweet!” Claire takes them from him, her cold hand brushing over his overheated skin. She rifles through them quickly, before chewing the inside of her cheek. “That’s weird, I thought there’d be more”

“Kai’s thumb… caught over a bunch of ‘em,” he lies.

“Pfft, love it,” she laughs, before handing him the first one he saw, where they’re arguing. “I think this describes us pretty well, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yep,” he replies with a short smile. His leg is jiggling like he needs to be medicated on _Ritalin_ or something.

“You can take that one,” Claire says, nodding in approval. “I’ll take the bunny ears one, and the one we took with Kai. We look wicked!”

* * *

“How was your birthday?”

Gray teeters on his heels, getting ready to leave. It's just them two in Claire’s kitchen now, as she’s picking the balloons up off of her floor, before Maggie can go to town and attack any more of them.

“Great. Best one I’ve had in awhile.”

“It took _so_ long to organize it with everyone. And you really thought I forgot!” Claire just shakes her head at him, chucking a balloon at his head. It misses due to her very, very poor hand-eye coordination, but he smiles anyway. “When I knew you were out running, I went to go and give the money to your grandfather since _you_ kept refusing to take it, and I said that I was worried you were catching on to the party, since I wasn’t seeing you, and he was all like, _‘deliver it the night before his birthday and play it off so he doesn’t suspect a thing.’_ But I’m such a bad liar!! I thought for sure you caught on.”

“I didn’t suspect a goddamn thing,” he tells her.

“Dummy. I can’t believe you _actually_ thought I forgot. I felt so terrible because of how mad you looked!”

“I’m never mad.”

“Oh, please. You’re like the poster-child for forever _staying_ mad. Y’know, you can be such a...” 

“A what?”

Claire pauses, before deciding to break her no-swearing code. “A _dipshit.”_ She laughs, throwing a balloon which surprisingly hits him in the face, but he just tosses it right back at her.

“That’s me,” Gray agrees. “Thanks... again for the party, Blondie. And for the Green Day album. I... I really appreciate it.” He says it, but he wonders if she truly comprehends just _how much_ he really appreciates her.

 _"Oh!”_ Claire exclaims. She grabs his hand, leading him toward her bed and _Jesus Christ, what is happening._ “How’d I almost forget? This’s for you!” 

She gets down on her knees, reaching under her bed and hoisting herself back up to hand him an unwrapped gift. Because she couldn't wrap this - _duh._

He doesn’t even know where to begin.

“You got me an acoustic bass.” 

She smiles. “I did. Jeff called the city and ordered it, along with your CD. Like I said, go _Walmart_.”

The instrument is impossibly heavy in his hands. His heart seizes; he loves this girl. Amidst the post-cocaine drop and the hangover that’s already setting in, he fucking loves this girl. “Jesus, Blondie, I can’t take this. It musta cost you a fortune.”

“Don’t be like that. I made sure to set aside some extra money from all of my prosperous yams in the fall.” 

Gray doesn’t deserve this; doesn’t deserve her. He was all pissy over nothing, over something _he_ was mistaken about. He shouldn’t be receiving her kindness, he won’t let himself get close enough to taint her, he’ll never give her enough that she deserves. He can't. “I’m not taking this.”

“You are.” Claire looks up at him and smiles, plucking a few strings. The sound elicits and echoes throughout her empty house. Maggie lies down on her bed, waiting, looking expectantly at the two of them. “You can take it anywhere and serenade anyone you want without needing an amp, and it’s my gift to you.”

“Your gift was this party.”

“That was to have your closest friends here celebrating _you_. _This_ is your gift.” 

Gray just swallows, placing the chestnut-streaked bass guitar on her bed next to them. Despite his internal protests, he wants to lift her and push her back on the bed, wants to kiss her, wants her and only her because he’s near positive that she is all that he’ll ever need.

Claire just hugs him, holds him; the world is wobbly but he clings to her and knows that he’ll manage just fine.

“Your heart’s pounding,” she tells him worriedly. Her ear isn’t even on his chest to know this, she just _knows_. “And your pupils are still so massive. Are you okay? Did you have… too much to drink, or-”

_Too much of everything._

“Fine,” he says, embracing her tightly like some kind of nut-case but hell, there are really no goddamn words right now. "I'm fine."

There’s nothing in the world, nothing in his life that prepares him for her next words.

“Gray,” Claire says quietly. “People in this world really care about you and love you... _I_ really love you. You don’t usually tell your friends that, like it’s kinda supposed to be a given, but… but I feel like you don’t hear it as often as you honestly should.”

He says nothing. He cannot even recall the last time that someone told him these words.

“You know that I do… you know that we all do, right?” 

Oh, Jesus what is he saying–? “You know that I love you, too… right?”

She pulls back to look at him, her expression indiscernible. “Despite everything?”

_Yup... despite everything._

* * *

In short, Gray was wrong; Claire isn’t slipping away from him at all.

Though, in her time re-spent with him, she _is_ accidentally slipping away from a certain someone else.

Gray doesn’t need the alcohol or the coke, because this warm, fuzzy feeling is fine enough.

Fucking _cheers._

* * *

“Is there anything the matter?” Trent asks tightly. He gives Claire’s hand a very constricting squeeze, walking through this snowy, shitty town with her. “You’ve been so busy lately.”

“Well, now you know how I feel!” Claire exclaims, flicking his shoulder. She's wearing a black coat that makes her look poor - _can't have that._

He’s grown irritated in a matter of mere milliseconds. “But you don’t even have crops right now. What could you possibly be busy with?”

She makes a face at him. “Trent, I’m still _busy._ ”

Why does it feel like she’s… slowly slipping out of his grasp?He always has things tightly in his palm, always been _handed_ things tightly in his palm, and he does not like to feel his grip loosening one bit.

“Do you want something? Anything?” he finds himself asking desperately.

Claire looks over at him puzzled, before stopping in her tracks to reach up on the windowsill of old-man Barley’s shop. She gathers some of the crystal-white snow in her hands, fluffing it in his raven hair.

His eye twitches.

“I _wanted_ to do that.” She gives him a playful smile. “Oh, would you lighten up?!”

He tries to force one back to camouflage the eye twitch.

“Just being with you is nice enough, Trent. I don’t need anything,” Claire explains, drawing herself in closer to him. 

“Hmm,” is all he mumbles. He can’t have her slipping; he needs his plan executed.

Claire pauses, arching a brow at him. “But when I tell you to stop by for Gray’s party and you don’t, well… I guess what I do want is you with everybody."

…

… There is no way he is losing his property to that fucking punk.

“Ah,” is all that he manages to respond with. “Well, alright then.”

Is this what– no, _who_ is standing in the way of his plan? He’ll just have to turn on his unnatural, romantic charm to get it all to work out, he supposes. And yeah, it'll be hard, but he can manage. He'll always manage.

* * *

Gray returns home from a night at the bar with Kai, well-past 1:00 A.M. He’s hammered out of his mind, and effortlessly beat both Karen and Duke combined in a drinking contest tonight. Duke’s going through a mid-life crisis, and Karen’s just caught-up in a fight with Rick or whatever. Claire was busy anyway with her shit-head boyfriend, but it’s fine; besides, Kai’s not here for that much longer, and they may as well hang.

Was there a desire in him to do a line before going out tonight?

Well, a little bit of yes, a little bit of no. He kind of wishes that he did, ‘cause he’s feeling beyond sleepy at the moment, but he won’t be stupid enough to let himself get over-reliant on that shit. He can handle it.

Gray fumbles with his house key, shoving open the door, wincing at its loud, creaking sound. He hopes his grandfather hasn’t been awoken, but he nearly has a heart attack when he sees the old man sitting at their kitchen table in the dark. The room is dimmed, but their small light above the oven provides a light glow.

An empty _Jack Daniels_ bottle rests upright on the table, casting a looming, deep shadow.

He feels like he’s a sophomore again, taking his family’s beat-up old Camry out for the night and returning home three hours past curfew, with hickeys all over his neck and the stench of cigarettes or weed in his clothes. His dad would be fast asleep, but his mom would always stay up late waiting for him, seated at their kitchen island with angry, flashing green eyes and a face that was knotted into worry. After giving him shit and threatening to ground him, she’d just let out a sigh of relief, tousling his hair gratefully at the fact that he was alright.

Gray would give anything to get a curfew-breaking lecture from her again.

Not one from his grandfather, though.

“So, you took the bottle,” Saibara says. It isn’t a question. His voice is levelled and cool across the room. One hand is flattened in front of him, the other hidden under the table. "I was lookin' for it."

Gray drops his keys drunkenly on the floor, but makes no motion to pick them up. “Sorry. Shoulda told you. I’ll… go out ’n get another one.”

His grandfather still stares at him, face unreadable.

“Gramps, lay off, will ya? It was awhile ago… anyway. Like, beginnin’ of wint-”

 _Ah fuck._ How’d the old man even find the bottle?

His grandfather’s other hand emerges from under the table, dropping a bag next to the _Jack Daniels_.

His bag.

 _Not ‘ah fuck’._ _Oh fuck._ The air suddenly feels suffocating and frigid.

Gray watches his jaw clench in fury. “I’m waitin’ for an explanation, Grayson.”

He's fuming. _What fucking right did this old bastard have to go through my shit?_

Saibara gets up from his seat to stand in front of him, but he just pushes past to try and get to his room, muttering out an excuse or something that doesn’t even quite register in his own head.

“And you’re wasted now, too.”

“Fuck off, old man,” Gray mutters, head down. He’s goddamn teetering.

His grandfather swears and reaches out to hit him upside the head. The impending alcohol-induced good mood is gone and the migraine takes over.

“What the fuck were you thinking, kid?”

Gray swats his hand away but stumbles into the wall.

His grandfather does it again as he tries to hit him back.

“The fuck were you thinking?!”

He keeps doing it, smacking him silly. His head's already pounding. He shoves his grandfather away hard, but the old man quickly regains balance.

“WHY THE FUCK DO YOU GOT THIS?” Saibara demands loudly.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me-”

“You goddamn idiot.”

And it's like he’s lost control of his hand or something. His grandfather makes a strangled noise and shoves him, but he shoves back even more forcefully. Is Gray really going to hit an old man right now?

Saibara brings up his mother.

_Guess so._

He swings but is so unsteady that he misses.

His grandfather pushes him away and Gray loses his footing, toppling. He gets up, eyes blazing, shunting the old man back hard. He thinks he sees Saibara flinch but the overall vision is so blurry and dark.

“Your fucking father’s in rehab for this kinda shit - you really wanna be like him? This is what you want? You fucking... here I am tryna give you _everything_ and you just go and throw it all away-”

“The fuck do you care?”

“The fuck do I care?! You stupid junkie-”

He’s screaming right now in a frenzy, but Gray is hardly registering anything. Saibara grabs his shirt, voice angry and on the verge of sobs, desperate. Where did all of this apparent strength come from? Or, is it just that Gray’s too weak? “I been working to support you, to fucking keep you offa this kinda shit, and this is how you throw your life away? Following in your old man’s footsteps?! And what would your mother say? She’d see you with this garbage, and-”

“Maybe I’m takin’ after my grandmother.”

This earns him a clean shot to the mouth.

Gray punches and gets him back all the same. His grandfather swears, clutching his chin.

“You’re not to bring blow, or dope, or any goddamn speedball - you’re not to fucking bring that shit here. You got that?!”

Gray just chuckles low. Nothing hurts or everything hurts; he can’t tell. He forces himself up on his feet, because this is what he does: puts on a front, manages just fine. “You ain’t my father.”

“No, but you’re on his fucking path.”

He hates hearing that; how the hell does the old man figure? It’s not true at all... despite his choices. He’s nothing like him. He takes a swing at Saibara who does the same and then the old man makes another strangled noise and is he crying? _Fuck sakes._

“I’m nineteen now. You don’t get to tell me… what the _fuck_ to do.”

“Yeah, you’re well over age. So you can get the hell outta my house.”

 _Ah fuck_ vs. _oh fuck._

Big difference.

* * *

Where the hell’s he gonna go?

Gray had drunkenly slipped some random clothes into a rucksack as his grandfather muttered something about him still having to show up for his shift and complete the last of his orders and that he was gonna work separately in his room so he wouldn’t have to see him for even a goddamn minute because the sight of him makes him sick and where the fuck’s he going to go tonight?

He slams the door hard as he leaves. His mouth hurts and fuck that old man to hell.

Basil, Mary’s father, is outside their shop with a joint in his hand, looking around to make sure that no one’s able to see him. His wife would murder him if she knew what kind of plant-business he runs on the side. He widens his eyes at Gray, clearly surprised to see someone else awake and out at this hour, offering him a few hits from his joint to keep this secret quiet. He doesn’t bother asking about Gray’s fat lip, but any and all pain quickly subsides from the MJ.

It would be a different scenario if he were Kai. Everyone likes Kai, everyone would gladly take Kai in. Or, even if he were Claire; the town would open their homes to those two in a heartbeat.

Not him.

He:

\- Is not staying with Karen or Rick.

\- Refuses to face Doug, or even bunk with Cliff. Besides, there’s out of town assholes from the Sunshine Islands crammed into every room at the inn this time of year.

\- Can’t imagine Kai or Popuri having any space for him in that tiny box of a room that they’re renting.

\- Won’t ask Elli, she’s got enough on her plate as it is.

\- Could live with Manna, ‘cause she’s always maternal and takes broken people under her wing like it’s her second day job, but her mouth is huge and this shit would get out in a heartbeat.

Fuck.

…

..

.

Would she let him stay?

Only one way to find out.

And apparently that’s slamming himself into her door, wasted and high outta his mind.

* * *

So, Trent leaves her house and bids her adieu with a languid kiss over her mouth. And they’ve had an _amazing_ night. Just enough swooning romance, cuddling, and making out for her liking. He tells her that although he’ll have to travel out of town in the next few weeks to take care of some things in Dallas, he’ll be back just in time for the Starry Night Festival. He pats Maggie’s head, and despite her snarling, maintains a smile. He tells Claire that his love for her knows no ends, and by the end of it, she succumbs herself to a little heart-throbbing pile, where everything can only be described as perfectly perfect.

She just feels all tingly, and wonders if she’s going to have her recurring hot and bothered dream again. She pretends she minds it, but nowhere near is she bothered. _At all_. Just hot. _Sigh._

Everything is just so wonderful! It’s all working out, she’s in love, and is surprisingly nowhere near tired. She collects some CD’s and turns on her shower, ready to give herself a self-care routine _ala Claire_ on this late Saturday night. Or, early Sunday morning. _Whatever._ She grabs her boombox, pops in a beloved 80’s Greatest Hits album, and blasts it. Maggie lays down on her floor, looking up at her as though she’s irritated.

“Oh, c’mon, Maggie,” Claire says, lifting her dog in her arms. _“You must be my lucky star!”_ She’s singing, holding her dog close and laughing. Maggie begrudgingly kisses her cheek as if to please her, then hops out of her arms and runs over to her food bowl, seeing if there’s any leftover treats that she’s missed.

Claire is just snapping her fingers and dancing, kicking off her slippers, shimmying out of her sweatpants and discarding her off-the-shoulder top. She doesn’t even care that she’s only wearing her intimates, or that her mirror has her scarred up physique on display. Because it’s all going good, and Trent is perfect, and she’s just so numb with happiness.

Deciding that she’ll let a tea steep while she’s in the shower, Claire quickly throws on a baby blue robe that she got from _Sears,_ and readies an apple cinnamon packet. She’s having fun jamming out before she washes her ridiculously long hair, listening to all of the Madonna, Cyndi Lauper, Bon Jovi, Prince and Whitney Houston that comes on.

 _“Whoaa, I wanna dance with somebodyyy!”_ She’s got the hand motions and the side-stepping and rhythm down to a _t_ , this is her _thing_. Dancing alone, jamming out when no one’s watching. A Saturday night, er, early Sunday morning fantasy. Yes, she’s stuck in a very different time zone. Yes, it bothers her that she’s not helping her lame-ass case. No, she does not give a crap.

Claire’s going to convert Trent into being silly and dancing with her like no one’s watching – she tells herself that it’s only a matter of time. To get him to let-loose and have fun with her like this, dropping his overly serious front would be wonderful.

_“With somebody who-”_

And her Saturday night/ early Sunday morning fantasy gets ruined because a lone figure stumbles into her door, and she really thinks that she’s just about as good as murdered.

Claire screams loudly, grabbing a barking, wiggling Maggie in her arms. She reaches for some kind of a weapon but all that she has is her tea-steeper.

Her heart practically stops in fear. This is it: she dies dancing in her faux-silk bath robe to Whitney without her hair being washed and _crap!_ Gray keeps telling her to fix the lock and she doesn’t ever listen to him because what else is new, but _ugh, shit!!_

She screams again as Maggie breaks free from her arms, growling and then… whimpering at the stumbled over intruder.

_… Oh, dear Lord._

“Gray!” she screams, and of course, her dog goes from protective and angry to pleasant and kind, sniffing her friend on the floor. He’s sprawled out lazily, snow trekked around him everywhere. She turns on a light.

“Gray! YOU GAVE ME A FREAKING HEART ATTACK LIKE WHAT THE ACTUAL HECK-”

Claire frantically gets down on her bare knees when he doesn’t move, kneeling and tightening her robe against her skin. Her heart is racing - is this even happening right now? She worriedly brushes the hair out of his face. His lip is split and swollen.

Gray cracks one pale blue eye open.

He _reeks._

Gives her a dopey smile.

“Hiya, Blondie,” he says. His hand hovers in front of her face, pushing her nose with his pointer finger.

She stares at him, eyes widened in a panic.

“Gray.” She says his name deliberately slowly, like she’s trying to make sense of what’s going on in front of her. The clock on her stove reads 1:45 AM, and her music is still playing.

“Whatcha _*hic*_ doin’?”

“Gray, you smell like a freaking package store.”

"Haha… the fuck’s a pack…age store?”

She forgot that this is Boston slang which only a few other states use. “Like… _straight_ liquor.”

“ _‘Licka.’_ That’s… pfft, what you sounded like there... Claaaire.”

 _How much did he have to drink?!_ “Gray… my gosh, it’s like, almost two in the morning. What’s going on?!”

He doesn’t answer, just keeps trying to poke her nose. Claire moves back to stare at this image of him, and he’s merely poking the air now. She gently pushes his hand away worriedly. “I’m calling your grandfather.”

To her surprise, he reaches for her hand, squeezing it. “Please… please don’t.”

His skin is beyond freezing. She tries to get him to sit upright, against the back door, shutting it so that the cold breeze doesn’t drift in. Her bare toes dig into the trekked snow that he’s brought in, causing goosebumps to heighten and raise all over her body.

“You’re fuckin’ warm,” he tells her. She sure as heck doesn’t feel like that right now.

Her face simply reddens. _Why do things feel so different?_ “Gray, talk to me. Why can’t I call your grandfather?”

“Kicked out.”

“He kicked you out?”

“Nhmmhm.” He slides down against the wall with a groan, falling over with his face pressed up against the wooden floors. She moves his head so that he’s not lying on his swollen side.

“Did he hit you?” Claire asks, even though she’s nearly certain that she already knows the answer to this question.

“Ahh huhhh. Don’t give a flying fuck. Shoulda seen my fackin’ hit though, hmm.” Gray smirks all smugly, but even that looks like it hurts his cheek. He’s got a fat lip with a cut of blood on it.

“Gray, why? What happened?”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes shut tightly like he’s fallen asleep.

“Gray,” Claire says again. She grabs his other hand, all frigid and full of snow. “You’re freezing.”

“You’re so fucking warm,” he repeats, clearly not asleep. He peeks one eye open again, all bloodshot and red. Next comes the other eye, and together, they make up a glassy, pale mess.

“Can I… fuck, I don’t got nowhere else to go.”

“Gray-”

“Could I stay here, Blondie?” he asks, no, pleads. He squeezes her hand again.

Her stomach flips.

“Yes,” Claire tells him worriedly. “Yes, my gosh. Of course you can.”

He gives another dopey smile, before glancing her up and down in her robe. Okay, _now_ she feels heated. “You’re so pretty, eh? You * _hic*_ know that?”

He passes… the _fuck_ out.

And why is her heart pounding so unbelievably loud in her ears?

* * *

Gray awakens in a bed, head positively throbbing.

_Ah fuck._

He grabs a fist full of blanket, hand squeezing some quilted material.

All colourful and checkered and hexagonal.

_Oh fuck._

It’s Claire’s bed.

And she’s seated at the lip of it, _pissed._

_Ohhhh, fuck._

What the hell did he do?

“Don’t,” she snaps, crossing her arms over her pajamas. “Go pulling _that shit_ again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone: can we plz have a Gray-Trent fight
> 
> Me: ahahahahahahha ;) can I interest you in a... Gray-Saibara fight?
> 
> Everyone: ರ_ರ 
> 
> Alternate title for this chapter is "One Big Yikes."
> 
> Here's a disclaimer: honestly, I think that Saibara is very triggered by drug usage, given that it's caused both his wife and son to leave. Regardless, I don't condone family violence at all... and I think I made him just about lose it when he saw his grandson not giving a shit about his life. It unfortunately got physical, sorry ya'll. I was inspired by Euphoria, when Rue's mom found her drugs. Her mom loves her but I remember it getting ugly and honestly it's just not a pretty topic in general.
> 
> Neither Saibara or Gray are bad people, like he honestly cares for his grandson and just has a really tough time showing it. And he's not a bad grandfather, like despite this I truly don't think that he is. He's just under immense pressure, snapped, and unfortunately families do get dysfunctional like this and can resort to fighting when it comes to people's substance abuse. Still not an excuse for hitting or punching, but I really wanted to write a realistic fight. Apology is hundossss in order, on both parts.
> 
> Would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter - thank you for reading :) And thank you all for your sweet and genuine comments on my last update. I really appreciate every single one of you 🤧💕🥺
> 
> Get ready for Claire to have a new roommate >:)


	34. The Trouble with Gray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of a 3 chapter update. Thought I could fit this into a single chapter... it ended up becoming 21 000 words (my hands hurt LMAO). I had to figure out a way to divide it sooo, here we are :) Enjoy!

“Fuck! Would you quit it?!”

Claire just narrows her eyes at him, body within close proximity to his as she holds an icepack against the swollen bump on his lip. Actually, no, scratch that - this isn’t even a legit icepack; it’s one she made by freezing some dish soap in a Ziplock bag. _Thrifty method for a thrifty chick._

“You need to keep it on or the swelling won’t go down,” she responds firmly. Entrusting him with these very-simple instructions, Claire maneuvers backward on her bed and makes her way toward her kitchen counter. She returns immediately with two mugs in hand, handing him the one with a faded Boston Bruins logo on it, and takes the solid-coloured _Central Perk_ one for herself.

Right now, it feels like someone is taking a very large mallet and driving it into Gray’s skull over and over and over again. His throat burns and his vision is absolutely searing, but somehow, the simple smell of coffee hits his nostrils and almost provides a sense of relief.

“I’m not drinkin’ outta this mug,” he tells her, icepack still glued against his face. The other nurses the shitty-excuse-for-a-hockey-team’s ceramic paraphernalia. “They suck and I refuse.”

Claire slowly takes a sip out of her own mug before speaking. “And you have the audacity to call _me_ a pain in the ass. That’s interesting.”

Yeah, he gets it. He’s clearly just as much of a ballbuster. But she’ll always be worse. Yup. _1000%_

Gray just suffices a groan to try and show her that he’s a-okay, even if this is the farthest thing from the truth. It’s as though he took a dive into Lake Michigan’s freezing temperatures, the water resembling a block of cement battering his body. “I feel like I got hit by a Mack truck.”

Claire drums her nails against her own mug of cinnamon vanilla tea carefully, before taking another sip. It looks like she’s been up all night, and this notion is pretty likely: her under-eyes are dark and puffy, lids swollen from a lack of sleep. She also doesn’t look too happy, with him or with the world right now.

Gray immediately feels guilty.

He starts to put the icepack down, because it’s way too cold for his skin, but her pissed-off eyes are watching his every minuscule moment, as if to say _“don’t even think about it.”_ Reluctantly, he places the coffee mug over on her bedside table, switching which hand this make-shift icepack resides in as he brings it back to his lip. He tries to get deeper under her quilted covers for warmth.

“Since when do you have coffee in your house?” Gray finally asks, because she isn’t saying much of anything. His mouth tastes like bile and straight alcohol - if he threw up, he doesn’t remember it.

“I went out and got some at the supermarket for you earlier.”

“What time’d you wake up then?”

Claire looks like she’s about to fabricate a fake answer, but seeing as though it’s no use ‘cause she’s such a crap-liar, hesitantly confirms his suspicions. “I haven’t gone to bed yet.”

Oh man, is he the worst or what? Plus, hello, he’s _in_ her bed. Where would she have slept? Next to him in this state? _HA._ “Fuck, Blondie. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine-”

“How’re you feeling, now?” she interrupts.

“… Fine.”

Claire scoffs. “Oh, you are _so_ _not_ fine.”

He just needs to start pressing her in order to fill in the details of his hollow memory. “What happened last night?”

Though this question seems to royally tick her off. “Gee, I dunno, Gray. Maybe you could tell me?”

He’d rather not go into details.

“Are you mad at me?” he asks instead. The clock on her wall reads 5:00 P.M. _Goddamn._ Did he really sleep for that long? The day’s nearly over and she hasn’t even rested at all yet. _Jesus_ , he’d be in a shit mood too.

“No,” says Claire tightly.

“You’re mad at me.”

“I’m not.”

“Did I say anything?”

Her cheeks flame. “No.”

“Did I do anything?”

“Would you just-”

“That means I did something,” he muses, voice void of any humor. _Shit._ He _must_ have said something stupid - that’s pretty on par with his drunken, high character. Or, regular character. _Take your pick._

Claire lets out an irritable sigh. “Gosh, Gray. Sometimes I can’t with you. You didn’t do anything.” The top half of her hair has been pulled back messily with a large brown clip, revealing her seashell-like ears and the rubies he made her. He _almost_ smiles at the sight, but figures an action like that will surely split his broken lip further.

“What happened last night?” he repeats. His memory is comprised of puzzle pieces that have been scattered and hidden, visible to everyone else but concealed in plain sight for him.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” Claire mutters, leaning her head on the wall against her bed. It looks like she’s about to doze off on the spot, seated like this so uncomfortably at the edge of her mattress.

Him being the ballbuster that he is, of course, keeps going. “Well, you’re definitely mad, and if you’re not gonna tell me w-”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Gray!” she snaps and _oh boy_ , she must seriously be cheesed if she’s using Biblical terms while shouting at him. Regardless, she’s more than likely got a right to be upset. “The bottom line is don’t scare me like that!”

Claire pauses, knotting her brows together and shutting her eyes, resuming the position of her head against the wall. She frowns, clutching her tea mug in her hands while lowering it to her lap, letting out a very deep breath.

He’s piecing it together slowly: drinking contest with Karen and Duke, absolutely annihilating the competition, returning home… Gramps finding his stash… _Gramps finding his stash_?! Fighting ensues, he takes a hit offa Basil’s joint…

Stumbles into Claire’s house. Like a maniac.

_But then what?_

“… Am I still allowed to stay here?”

Claire keeps her temple against the wall, but opens her eyes to stare at him. “Are you joking right now?”

“Is that a no?”

“Gray, like… what is the matter with you?! My gosh, of _course_ you can still stay here. Why would I ever kick you out?”

“‘Cause you’re mad.”

“Well, you’ve got a knack for making me mad.” Claire tries to give him a weak smirk, but it just involves the corner of her lip twitching, so she resumes her frown. She’s exhausted - he feels even more beat-up just looking at her. “I’m not _mad_ about having you here, I’m mad that you barged in all wasted last night. You gave me a heart attack! Please, _please_ don’t do that again… You really scared me. I was worried about you.”

He feels major guilt. She’s not even mad he stormed in, she’s mad he _worried_ her. “I’m sorry.”

“Why’d you have to go and drink so much booze anyway? Don’t you have a responsible limit?!”

_HA._

Gray scoffs at her, bringing the icepack down tentatively so that he can fully talk. “Do you hear yourself right now?”

Claire narrows her eyes at him again, but it looks like she’s seriously straining them. “Pardon me?”

“If you don’t wanna always sound like such a prude-”

“This isn’t me being lame and boring, Gray. It’s a _fact._ Drinking that much isn’t healthy _or_ safe!”

Damn, she really didn’t pick up on the weed at all? Before she grabbed the icepack, she asked him if he got burned by something, or sprayed by a skunk, and that’s when he realized how _truly_ sheltered she’s been. He can never tell her about the drugs, or the real reason he even got kicked out. Ever. “‘K, well, I don’t need you to lecture me.”

“Maybe I’m just hoping that for once, it’ll stick, and you’ll actually listen to me. ‘Cause you never, ever do. For example, I say keep the icepack on your lip, you don’t-”

“You mean the frozen dish soap.”

“… You’re such a smart ass. Keep the _frozen dish soap_ on y-”

He can’t help but smirk at her, and she just stops what she’s saying to shake her head, poorly hiding a smile.

“You’re an idiot, Gray. Keep it on-”

He gestures toward his mug, trying not to cringe. Instant coffee is _repulsive_ , but it’s honestly the thought that counts, and besides, right now he’ll take anything. “I wanna drink this delicious instant black coffee so badly though.”

She rolls her eyes. “Sorry, I don’t know how you take it. I assumed black.”

“What made you think that?”

“… I dunno, actually,” Claire laughs.

“I take it triple triple.”

“What?”

“What.”

“Three milk, three sugar?”

He nods.

She laughs. “You do not.”

“I do.”

“Do you want any coffee with that?”

He rolls his eyes back at her, but that absolutely kills his brain, which makes him scrunch up his face, which in turn makes everything hurt again. He drops his head into her pillows, and they smell sweet like her, but he’s ruining it ‘cause he reeks like he soaked himself in whiskey and cognac.

He can’t even fathom the fact that he’s in her bed. And he assumed something happened. _Yeah, right._ “How the hell'd you even get me in here?”

“Well, I called Kai and thank God he came like, right away. You threw up and he helped me get you to the bathroom.”

“And the favour from his drunken ass in the summer gets fully returned.”

“Mmm, he mentioned something about a girl named Chelsea and covering for _you_ to your parents,” says Claire, arching her brow over at him. “FYI.”

Gray scowls. “Oh, good… glad he remembers shit from the tenth grade.”

She widens her eyes. “You were fifteen when all that happened?”

“Good thing he relayed the whole story to you, too.” _New Years Eve, circa 2000. Good times, good times._

“Thanks, Blondie… thanks for taking care of me.” He realizes that in a world where no one gives a shit, two people in his life do… three if you count Ann who told him to put the liquor down yesterday evening. And that's gotta count for something.

Claire nods. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

She extends her pinky out uncertainly. “Please… please just promise me you won’t scare me like that again.”

He reluctantly takes it to cement the promise, and her fingers are so warm… warm like last night. This little fact was something that he kept to himself though, right?

“Look, about yesterday… all you gotta know is that my grandfather and I got into a bad scrap and he kicked me out.” Gray rubs at his forehead, because his brain has its own heartbeat right now.

Claire chews the inside of her cheek. She seems to be gripping her mug tighter now, bare knees brought in closer to her chest. The pajama shorts that she’s wearing make her seem even more pale than she actually is, with their pinstriped white and pink design. “Was it about your trade?”

 _Sure, let’s go with that._ “He just doesn’t want me to end up like my dad.”

Claire nods. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Sorry I threw up in your bathroom.”

“And on my floor.”

“Aw, jeez. And on your floor.”

Claire smiles. “It’ll be nice having you here.”

“Really, eh?”

“Really. Now, put the icepack back on your lip. It’s so swollen, Gray.”

“The old man got me good.” He pauses. “I got him too, though. Don’t you worry.”

She winces. “I’m sorry… it looks so painful. I hope you’re okay.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Gray shrugs. _Considering._ “Not my first fight.”

Claire says nothing, rubbing her arm and looking down at her lap. He doesn’t have to be a mind-reader to know that she’s thinking back to that night in the valley.

His face is throbbing and now his… shoulder is too? Jesus, he’s falling apart, but he finds comfort in this change of topic. Even if it’s still about how fucked up his life is. “I used to fight all the time, before any of this shit. I got kicked out of school for fighting.”

“Really?” She takes another sip from her tea, frowning. “How come?”

“‘Cause if somebody rubbed me the wrong way…” His voice trails off. Is there any good method to explaining the ways that his anger took over, how it swarmed him inside and out, made it seem like his fists had a mind of their own? How any sonuvabitch who crossed him was the unluckiest motherfucker in the world?

Gray just motions his hand in front of her face, because he can’t elucidate any of that, pointing to his knuckles. “My own scars.”

Claire stares at him sadly, before gradually inspecting his hand with a tilt of her head. Her index finger is tracing over the rough skin lightly, and beneath all of his callouses, he wonders if she can comprehend just how many times the cut up bits of him had to regenerate themselves back.

A swipe of something indiscernible crosses her face, but it’s gone in an instant. She holds his large hand in the small palm of her own, flipping it over with a smile. “Wow. So much better than how it looked in the fall.”

She’s right - his infection healed up nicely, and all that he’s left with is scratches that sort of blend in with the remaining rough geography of his skin. “See? I listened to you.”

“For once,” she clarifies.

“Yeah, yeah. For once.”

Claire’s contemplating her next words very carefully. He assumes that they’re gonna be preachy as hell, something along the lines of encouraging him to make amends with his grandfather, until she actually speaks. “Trent’s taking me to get a scar revision consultation soon. To cover them up.”

“Why? They healed fully.” Gray makes a face, pointing to her bare thigh that’s seated all cross-legged. There’s a scatter of faded marks from the urchin stings dabbled around her skin, all of them few and sporadic. She took care of it, and they don’t look bad at all.

“For my back, Gray,” says Claire wearily, dropping his palm. She resumes to clutching her mug in both hands. “The ones on my back… I wanted to tell you. He says that Dr. Hardy can-”

“What the hell?” Gray stares at her, really stares.

“What?”

“That’s fucking stupid.”

She glares. “Of course, something important to me is stupid to you.” Her lack of sleep combined with his insensitive comment earn him the attitude that he just got. But seriously… _what the hell._

“That’s dumb as shit and you know it, Claire.”

“No, it’s not dumb. Why do you constantly-”

“Why do you always wanna change who you are? You’re-” Take your pick in what he _should_ say; there’s a hundred things in his Rolodex of good qualities about her. But instead, he settles on the negative: “You’re ridiculous.”

“Oh, I’m ridiculous," Claire scoffs angrily. "That’s so hilarious, Gray. You’re the ridiculous one who-”

He’s talking over her and it’s giving him a headache, but he doesn’t care. What else is new - they’re fighting like usual. “At least I can accept what I am. I don’t go acting different or-”

“Neither do I! I’m still me, and-”

“You're trying to change so you can-”

“If it will help me then why do you-”

“And let me guess, it was that fucker’s idea, huh?”

“Y'know what just stop. Shut up and-”

“Because your goddamn mentality is ‘oh, let me just-'”

“I DON’T wanna look like freakin’ carnage for the rest of my life!” she screams, voice shattering and eye twitching. “Don’t speak for me and don’t put words in my mouth and _don’t_ assume. You don’t know how it feels to wake up every morning and avoid looking at these… disgusting-”

“Would you stop saying that? You’re losing your shit for no reason. They aren’t bad at all.”

“No, they are bad. You have _no_ idea-”

“I saw them,” he says softly. He drops the firmness in his voice, lowers it like he’s telling a secret. And she looks up at him, her eyes so big and watery blue, her cheeks pinched pink and her lips parted like she has nothing or everything to say back in response. They have yet to discuss that night, those few minutes in the closet; neither of them have brought it up since... for _obvious_ reasons. Even though it’s the only thing constantly running through his mind. “… You know I did. They’re not bad at all.”

Claire just looks down, swallowing. Her blush is as profuse and apparent as ever. “Yeah, I know you did,” she whispers.

There’s a knock at her door.

She shakes her head. “That’s, um, probably Trent.”

“Fuckin’ lovely,” he mutters.

Claire still doesn’t meet his eyes. “Do you mind… I’m sorry, do you mind just getting out of my bed, please? I... um, I don’t want… him-”

His face flushes. “Yeah, sure. I got it.”

Gray clamours up, head throbbing, grabbing the Boruins mug and seating himself at her messy kitchen table. There’s an empty plate on it, a book from the library, and some things of sugar, cream, and milk inside of the instant coffee packaging she left out. Claire just self-consciously throws on a sweater, running to answer the door as he tears open the sugar and milk, pouring it into his mug.

“Look who came running out of your barn!” Trent exclaims, pointing to Maggie, who’s latched herself onto the hemline of his pants. She’s gnawing at the fabric, growling and snarling as she tugs it between her teeth. “I really, really think she’d be better off as an outdoor dog, considering she was having such fun with-”

“She’s a house dog, I just let her play in there with the chickens sometimes.” Claire cuts him off like she doesn’t wanna hear it, or like he’s given her this speech before.

Trent simply peers at her in her pajamas, his eyes immediately darting to Gray.

And of course, the smug bastard in him – the one he’s fully comprised of – cheers’ his mug up to that motherfucker.

“Claire,” Trent replies tightly. “What… what’s going on here?”

“Nice to see ya, Doc,” says Gray, before muttering a not so discreet, “asshole.” And the cherry on top: Maggie gives Trent another growl, before scampering over to the sound of Gray’s voice, jumping in his lap and licking his hand happily.

Trent turns to her, his eye twitching. “I’m waiting.”

She tries to keep her tone as cool as she can, like levelled butter in a recipe. It sounds like she’s practiced rehearsing this for her boyfriend over and over again. “So, Gray’s grandfather… kicked him out last night. They got into this huge fight and he’s staying here now.”

Dead silence.

Trent lets out a humorless laugh. “This is a fuckin’ joke, right?”

“Pardon me?”

“Not a joke,” says Gray, taking another sip of coffee. Should he add a fourth packet of milk? Would that be bad? This stuff only has the faintest semblance to coffee. “Can assure you that. You stupid sack of sh-”

Claire’s head whips around to glare at him.

_At least she’s looking at me now._

Trent’s face has gone fully red. “Get in your bathroom now, Claire. I need to speak with you. _In private_.”

And she opens her mouth to say something, before snapping it shut, once-brave shoulders lowering and following suit.

Trent storms past him and she follows, keeping her eyes glued to the floor. He reaches for the handle to her bathroom door once she’s inside with him, hatred shooting out from his eyes as he slams it shut. Maggie tries to follow her owner, but the door closes on her little snout, leading her to whimper and scratch at the wood.

Gray shoots up from his seat, feeling the hangover _immensely_. But what fucking right does this prick have to speak to her like this? He darts over to the bathroom door, knowing that Claire would kill him if she caught him eavesdropping, but simultaneously choosing not to care. He lifts Maggie in the crook of his arm to stop her from crying so that he can hear better. His ear is pressed against the door, listening in on their muffled voices.

“You let that fucking trash in your house?”

“Seriously, stop it, Trent. Just stop it. Don’t speak that way about my friend.”

“Your _friend._ Is that what you call this? You just shamelessly spread your legs for your _friends_?”

“Excuse me?!” Claire shrieks. He can just picture her face, all flushed and embarrassed. His own cheeks burn too at the very thought. _As if_ that’s the case. “Why would you ever say that?! Y’know, you’re being such a jerk right now. His grandfather and him got into a bad scrap. Like, _bad_ bad. He hit him, and here you are, just-”

“Should’ve hit him harder.”

He hears her bitterly laugh. “And you call yourself a doctor. What kind of a doctor would say th-”

Something slams against the wall, followed by Claire’s immediate gasp. Gray’s hand hovers on the doorknob as Maggie growls low. She would be so pissed at him if he stormed in like this, but right now, he doesn’t really give a crap.

“Don’t you fucking talk about my profession when you don’t even have a damn _sliver_ of the education and training I’ve had. You know nothing, absolutely nothing, alright? You hear me, Claire?”

_Jesus, what a cock._

“I said ‘you hear me?’”

Nothing.

_Did he fucking hurt her?!_

“Cl-”

“Yeah… yeah. I hear you.” Her voice returns, still levelled but sounding so much smaller.

“Good. Cancel this right now. I mean it, he can find somewhere else to go. This isn’t happening, I won’t allow it.”

“… No.”

“No?”

 _No?_ he thinks. Maggie hops out of his arms, resuming her growling on the floor.

“No. You do not pay my water bill,” she snaps. “You do not pay my electrical bill. You do not pay my gas bill. You do not pay for _anything_ regarding this house, so what makes you think that you have ANY right to delegate who I can and cannot allow in my own home?!”

“I-”

“No, just shut your mouth and _listen_. If you love me, why do you talk to me that way?! Why do you treat me like I’m some cheap slut? I’ve literally never done _anything_ , and you-”

“But-”

“I said _stop!_ Gray is my _friend._ I care about him and he has nowhere else to go and I would never, ever turn my back on a friend. _Ever,_ and I don’t care what you say. I would do this for Karen, I would do this for Kai, I would do this for anybody I care about. And I’m doing it for Gray. So don’t you dare get it twisted like that, and don’t you dare speak to me like that either. Because if you loved me-”

Her voice breaks, and there is a slight pause of heavy breathing, before the knob turns and the doctor busts out. Gray backs away from the door to avoid it hitting him as Claire remains in her bathroom. Trent darts over to him and shoves a frantic finger in his face.

“She’s mine. _Mine._ You got th-”

Gray grabs it and twists it back hard without even thinking. His vision is searing.

And he is going to fucking end this sorry prick.

Gray releases his finger to grab the collar of his shirt, to which Trent looks down in a panic, making a noise that cannot escape his throat. “If you ever-”

Trent swats his hand away and cusses his threat out as Maggie barks up at him. He dusts himself off and storms out her front door. Gray is quite pleased with himself, like _yeah_ , he’d have rather gotten a hit in, but he’s made it perfectly clear that he isn’t fucking around.

There's soft whimpering coming from Claire’s bathroom, her door mostly ajar. He knocks on it with the corner of his still-sore knuckle, fully opening it with hesitation.

She looks up and tries to furiously wipe at her eyes, scrunching them in so he can’t see how red or wet they are. On her floor is a dented bar of hand soap, the plastic dish it usually rests in sprawled about. Nothing is broken or anything.

But it may as well be.

Is this all his fault? It would be within character of him; he causes problems anywhere he goes.

She has herself seated on her bathroom counter, and for a moment, he forgets that she is only eighteen, with an older boyfriend who cannot possibly love her in the ways that she thinks he does. She seems so small right now, and it just takes him back, reminds him of the way he used to look when he was six, propped up on his kitchen island so his mom could bandage his knees after stumbling outside. And here Claire is, slumped over in the same kind of way, like her whole relationship is one big trip and fall.

“He shouldn’t be speaking to you like that,” Gray says, standing still in her doorway. “He shouldn’t talk to you like-”

“Gray, please.”

“I’m serious, Claire. I swear to G-”

She just buries her head in her hands, crying harder.

And Jesus, why is he lecturing her?! He’s so insensitive sometimes. After all she does for him, after all she does for everyone, she deserves so much more - and he’s just as bad as that dick if he continues on like this.

“Blondie,” Gray murmurs, going over to her quickly and crouching on her level. “Hey… look at me, huh?”

Claire just sniffles, rubbing her eyes and nose, before looking up at him, her cheeks streaked with the track marks of her tears. “You’re welcomed here,” she says, voice hoarse. “You always are. If you ever feel like you have nowhere else to go, you’re always welcomed here. Please know that.”

He doesn’t answer. He wants to apologize for getting her yelled at, but how fucked up is that?! _This is Trent’s fault._

“I just,” she continues, a sob escaping her throat as the tears continue to fall again.

He reaches his hand out, through the limited space between them, thumb brushing away her tears. Her skin is so smooth against the roughness of his own, but he’s trying, he’s _really_ trying to be gentle here.

Claire looks up at him in surprise, a stray tear slipping past her lower eyelashes like she’s staring through a ghost.

_… Is it that shocking when I’m not being an asshole?_

But her face still softens at his touch. He doesn’t imagine that it does - it really does.

“… Blondie.”

She’s staring at him, her cheeks red and her lips so full and _Jesus_ , what he wouldn’t give to kiss her right now. Honest to fucking God, he wants her.

“Yeah?” Claire whispers.

Lord does he want her.

The tapping sound outside of her bathroom window almost makes them both jump. Their eyes dart to the pane fearfully, but it is none other than Kai on the other side.

He mouths a sheepish _“sorry”_ to him.

Fuck’s sake.

* * *

“I cockblocked, didn’t I?”

“No.”

“Sorry, man.”

“You didn't. It’s fine.”

Kai takes a swig of his hot chocolate, like he’s pondering on whether or not to believe this. “Nah, it’s not fine,” he decides. “I didn’t… I was just coming by to make sure you were still alive.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Yo, don’t say that shit. I’m actually sorry.” He pauses, absently running his fingers through his curls as he thinks. “You still shoulda kissed her, y’know.”

Popuri scowls beside him. She huddles into the sweater that Kai draped over her, trying to get warm. The inn feels freezing tonight because Doug is too cheap to turn on the heat, similar to the way his own dad used to be back in their home. Even though he’s showered and all clean now, Gray’s got no problem trekking outside to find some wood to throw in their fireplace. “How can you expect him to be a homewrecker?”

“The guy’s a fuckin’ creep, babe. This ain’t good news. Claire needs to leave him, which _she will do_ once Gray here turns up the charm. It’ll be like _Will and Grace_.”

Karen takes a seat at their table, clutching an iced tea. She’s wearing a mini skirt and a cut-off top, clearly unperturbed by the below zero temperatures. She's the one who goes around claiming that _an icy bitch never gets cold_. Alrighty then. “Um, I’m sorry, how exactly is it gonna be like _Will and Grace_?”

“I dunno.” Kai shrugs. “Like, I just hear the name of the show. Aren’t they a couple livin’ together or something?”

Popuri sighs. “No, it’s about a gay lawyer and his interior designer best friend. And I think they only live together for like, a little bit.”

“Ah.”

“Oh, Kai,” mumbles Karen. She takes a very dramatic sip from her iced tea. “Having you back… like it’s just so great to have you back. I don’t even have to make fun of you, this shit’s just writing itself.”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay then, it’ll be like _Three’s Company?_ Minus… uh, the third-?”

“You keep naming platonic shows!”

“Look, bottom line is that Claire loves Trent and she won’t leave him,” says Popuri with a wave of her hand. “She writes me letters about how she’s truly, madly, deeply in love.” As if she’s forgotten that Gray’s sitting right there, she grimaces. “Ugh, sorry, Gray.”

He takes another sip of his hot chocolate. He wishes it were spiked; Ann made a Kahlua version last year or something, and Jesus, it was good. But she won’t serve him anything of the sort right now. Like he’s got some kind of a problem and he needs to be limited. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

“Where’re you sleeping?” asks Karen, nosy as ever.

“Her couch, obviously.”

“I put him in her bed last night though.” Kai winks. “Thought it would be _enticing._ ”

“Nice going. How’s that sexy?” groans Karen. “She probably had to triple wash her sheets.”

She did.

“Plus, I’m with Popuri on this one. No-go on the homewrecking thing, seriously. Don’t be a piece of shit.”

Ann's ears perk up as she overhears the conversation while collecting some used napkins at another table. She’s on shift for the next four hours, newly coordinating her work schedule with Cliff’s now that he’s employed at the winery. “How is this homewrecking?!” she demands. “It’s called being honest with yourself, and owing it to others to be honest with _them_. Plus, homewrecking is like, Angelina getting all up in Brad and Jen’s relationship. _So_ not the same.”

“Homewrecking,” Karen clarifies with another exaggerated sip of iced tea.

“Figures you think you know the clear-cut definition,” says Ann. She sighs. “Y’know, Gray, I’m sure we could find room for you here.”

“And face your dad?” He scoffs. “Pfft, not happening. I feel like if I’m here, I’ll get drunk more, and then who knows what’ll slip.”

Ann rolls her eyes. “Then don’t drink.”

 _Yeah, not happening_. But it’s not like he can just stumble home wasted anymore, because he’s in _Claire’s_ home now. So, as much as he’d love to drink, he really can’t.

Plus, he pinky promised or whatever.

Kai frowns. “My question is like, where’re you gonna jerk off?”

Gray stares at him.

“Yeah, you’re asking the real questions here,” snorts Ann sarcastically.

“Can you handle living with a woman?” Karen asks, almost wincing. “Being the neanderthal that you are?”

“It’s dangerous territory,” Kai adds. “But that’s cool, man. We’re from Chicago - danger capital of the world.”

“You grew up in Bridgeport, which was literally ranked as one of its safest neighborhoods,” says Popuri with a squint. “Remember, I checked those crime statistics when we got there, ‘cause I was all afraid given the way you _make_ it seem?”

“Like I said, writing themselves.” Karen grins.

Gray decides to change the subject, because everyone at the table here’s making his goddamn headache return.

“Did I say or do anything last night?” he asks Kai.

“Ah, yeah.” He makes a face like he’s about to give him some terminal diagnosis, motioning him over to an empty table that’s farther away. Popuri aches her brow at the dramatics, whispering something to Ann and Karen.

“Yo, thank God for you throwing up, ‘cause it sure as hell _shut_ you up. Like, you passed out, but when you woke back up, you kept telling Claire that she looked so pretty, and I mean, she was in a robe… so yeah. And you would not for the _life_ of you stop staring at her tits. She kept having to fix herself, ‘cause… damn man, like I really didn’t notice what a rack she had, but you sure did-”

Gray sheepishly waves his hand away. His anxiety is playing that very image on loop, and he’s mortified. “I get it.”

“Like, if her tits were the honey, and you were the bees-”

“Thanks, Kai.”

“Like, a mom at a Costco Christmas sale-”

“Alright, that’s just wrong-”

“Like a-”

“Okay, thank you, Kai!” says Popuri, voice elevated. “You are literally so loud and _we can hear you._ ”

Jesus, he’s gotta live this down. _City Gray would never_ \- City Gray would be a lot smoother than _that_.

But as much as he’d _love_ to harp on this and let the embarrassment consume him, something else is on his mind. Because something manifested itself at Claire’s today. Or something was there, something imperceptible. Call it what you will: tension, a spark, whatever, but he’s not going to deny any of that.

Not even for a second.

_These living arrangements are sure gonna be interesting._

He gets to Claire’s later on that night, only to find her with damp hair, curled up like a little _c_ , exhausted and passed out on the corner of her bed. The rest of her sheets are still being washed because _third time’s a charm_ , but she didn’t even have the energy to pull up a pillow out for herself.

Her house phone is ringing, and he sees from the very-new caller ID feature that it’s the clinic. It rings up until her voicemail, the machine informing her that she’s now got five unopened messages.

_Ha._

Gray doesn’t know where she keeps her extra blankets, so he grabs the velvety one she set aside for him, draping it over her body. It’s literally the least he can do. Maggie wags her tail at him and he pets her gently, before she snuggles herself against the warmth of her owner.

“Night, Blondie,” Gray mumbles, shutting off her lights.

* * *

Given that she’s in the worst of moods after her fight with Trent, Claire doesn’t anticipate to have the dream. Because if she’s going to be dreaming about her boyfriend, or the faceless man that she’s attributed to being her boyfriend, she would do it when they’re not pissed at each other.

But she did have it. It was just so wonderful, so beautiful, so warm-

And she wakes up to the warmth of a blanket that she did not grab for herself melted over her.

Claire shivers, but her face is all heated. She cranes her head to find Gray passed out on her couch, Maggie on the floor between them, wagging her tail over at her.

Claire clutches the fabric closer to her skin as she feels her blush grow, listening to the sound of her heart pounding faster and faster.

Honestly, _what_ is going on here?

* * *

Trent’s managed to do it: he’s managed to talk his way out of this one, convince Claire that he really does love her and that he’s terribly sorry. That he’ll change.

 _He’ll change_. The irony of it all almost makes him chuckle.

And even though the little bitch put up a good fight, he still managed. He showed up at her door, secretly poured contact solution into his eyes to make it look like he’d been crying, fabricated a story about being cheated on by a whore, even lied and said that there was relentless abuse in his past.

And Claire forgave him. She didn’t at first, she was pissed to hell, but he forced her to listen, and upon seeing him “cry”, started weeping, telling him that she just wanted to feel loved.

_Too good._

He needs to go back home for a bit; he’s prolonging it as much as he can, but he’s running low on funds and he can’t have his bank empty, not with all that he’s got planned. He won’t even risk his parents mailing the money to him, not with the sum that he needs, or with all that direct deposit information and bank-telling bullshit he’d have to go through. No, he’ll stick with cash. While he’s at it, he’ll figure out his paycheck situation that's being handled by his parents in Dallas... everything just has to be kept in accordance to the plan.

She’s going to help his success, act as a part of the key to him getting everything back. She’s just making it so damn difficult along the way. She puts up a fight and she hasn’t even given up _anything_ to him, but he realizes that he’ll be driving her farther away, and eventually onto that blacksmith’s dick if he doesn’t keep his temper down.

Maybe she already has betrayed him; maybe she’s a straight-up sociopath who lies like it’s nobody’s business. Maybe she’s just like him.

But no, not his virginal Claire.

Still, he’s doubtful. After all, Elli lied to him, and look where it got her.

He knows how to check if Claire’s not being honest. And he’s just _so_ good at convincing - this will be a cinch.

He’s kissing her hard right now, and it’s almost interrupted by something she’s got in the oven that’s beeping (even though he told her that neither of them needed to be eating at the moment). Claire tries to break away from him to get up, but he pushes her back down, hands grabbing and pulling up her loose off-the-shoulder top. She lets out a gasp, and he’s left with sheer disappointment when he sees another layer of tank top underneath.

“You’ve got such an hourglass,” he murmurs, running his hands along the contours of her curves. He stops them below her waist. “Lord, I love you, darling.”

“Trent,” Claire says softly. He tugs at the bottom hemline of her tank as he slowly tries to peel it off, but she brushes his hand away, looking down and biting her lip. Their faces are so close, noses touching and the heat of her cheeks radiating off of his own.

He pauses; the true test. “Claire, something’s been brought to my attention.”

Her shoulders slump in relief, and she seems grateful for the change in subject matter. “Mhm?” Rising from the floor to go over to her kitchen, she grabs some oven mitts, leaving him with her mutt.

He gets up too, to avoid all the snarling.

“You’re a bit over the age of eighteen.”

“Ya-huh.”

“And you still haven’t gone for your vaginal sweep. I was rifling through your file the other day and I forgot to mention it.”

She turns to him, frowning. “My what?”

“Your file.”

“No… um, what’s a vaginal sweep?”

“It’s a screening for cancers, infections, HPV… and you still haven’t done it yet. That’s irresponsible.”

Claire chews the inside of her cheek, slipping the mitts on. She opens the squeaky door to her oven, hands lifting her tray of heated cookies. “No… no I haven’t. I thought… a Pap test is when you’re twenty-three, or sexually active-”

“You’ve got the dates wrong. It’s eighteen or over. Waiting until twenty-three is just plain negligent.” He peers at her, leaning back on her counter and frowning. The dog has seemingly come out of nowhere, growling up at him when he puts his foot out, much to his annoyance.

“Oh,” says Claire stupidly. She looks nervous as hell. “Well, can Elli do it?”

“Claire,” he responds tightly. “Elli is just a nurse. How many times must I remind you of this? _I_ will do it. Do you not feel comfortable around me?”

Claire stammers, “I just-”

“I’m your boyfriend.”

“Okay, duh, I know you are.”

“Don’t ‘duh’ me. I feel comfortable with you. Don’t you feel the same?”

“Yes, of course. But-”

“And it’s just an exam. Strictly professional, Claire. I’ll pretend like I’m not your boyfriend.”

She nods. “I’ll see. It’s just… I haven’t even considered that yet. They told us to prolong it as much as we could at the convent, for um, reasons-”

“Well, your mother died young. It would be wise.”

“… Yes, but not of cancer, Trent. From the car accident. Remember?”

“ _I remember._ But what I’m saying is, we have no access to her medical files, and we have no idea if there’s a precancerous gene that runs in your family.” He slips her oven mitts off, clutching her hands in feigned distress. “I worry all the time for your wellbeing, Claire. You need to promise me, for the sake of your health, that you’ll let me do it when I return.”

“Yes, but-”

“‘Yes but’ nothing. If you don’t, it tells me that you don’t care about anything your life. And that includes me.”

Okay, that one was a stretch but he really doesn’t give a shit right now.

Claire widens her eyes. “Of course I care about you. I love you,” she tells him frantically, wrapping her arms around his neck in a warm embrace.

“This is private, though. These tests are private,” he mumbles, buried in the crook of her arm. “I’d advise that you keep this to yourself. I can even medicate you during it, if it’s what’d you like.”

Claire pulls backward, slowly nodding. “Okay, I… I wanna be safe.”

And he smiles, lowering his hands back down to her waist, kissing her as he immediately tugs the hemline of her tank top once more-

And the goddamn punk busts in.

Claire pushes him off immediately, adjusting her top and crossing her arms over her chest self-consciously. She fiddles with the end of her ponytail.

“Did you bake?” Gray asks her. His tone is genuinely curious, until he smugly looks over at him and it’s not fair, it’s not fucking fair. Nothing about this roadblock is.

“Yeah,” Claire replies, trying to catch her breath.

“I could smell it from outside.”

“Yeah,” says Claire again. Trent glares at her before she continues on. “They’re three ingredient peanut-free cookies. I made them with the _Wow Butter_.”

When he found the _Wow Butter_ in her pantry, she said it was because Gray was allergic to peanut butter, and she had to find a compromise for her toast in the morning.

Fucking bullshit.

“Nice,” says Gray, grabbing two. He eyes him. “Thanks, eh.”

Impeding little shit.

“So, as I was saying, my love,” Trent continues, even though he wasn’t saying anything.

Gray turns on the sink loudly, grabbing a plate. Claire arches her brow over at him, to which he says a very unapologetic, “Sorry.”

“If we’re going to book it, then-”

He clatters his plate loudly in the sink. “Ah, fuck. It chipped.”

“It’s fine, they’re super old,” Claire tells him. “Anyway-”

“Well, I-”

“Blondie, where do the spoons go?”

She gives him a look which tells him that he knows exactly where the spoons go.

He pulls out the drawer and rattles them loudly anyway.

Cockblocking little fuck.

Gray gives him a very smug grin.

* * *

“Hey, Kare, can I ask you a question?”

“ _‘Not ecofriendly? It could be a sign that he'll trash your relationship too!'"_ Karen reads, looking up from her magazine. She’s supposed to be manning the cash register at checkout, but she’s kicked her feet back, completely absorbed in a _Cosmopolitan_. “Hmm, how would you describe Trent’s environmental footprint?”

“Uh-”

Karen waves her hand, pushing her magazine down. The cover issue has Naomi Campbell on the front, beautiful as always, giving a sultry and seductive look. Under her reads: _MIND-BLOWING ORGASMS — GO FROM ‘NOW’ TO ‘WOW’, SOLO OR PARTNERED!_ Claire’s never actually picked up an issue of _Cosmo_ , since entertainment magazines like that were totally banned from her convent back home. She’d skim through them at the grocery store, but never actually brought herself to be able to check one out; besides, the most that she retained from them was that juice cleanses weren’t _all_ that bad, and that a writers’ go-to adjective for sexual pleasure was the word ‘explosive’. _Oookay._

Not like she’d know.

“What’s your question, kid?”

“Ummm, how old were you when you did your first… Pap smear test thing?” Claire feels the need to hide her face, even though it’s literally just Karen (and old man Barley, wandering the feminine product aisle as he searches for the saltine crackers). She places her package of dry spaghetti and olive oil on the counter, looking away sheepishly.

“Oh,” says Karen, scanning the items absentmindedly. “I was sixteen.”

Claire stares at her. “Really?”

“Yeah. Cervical cancer runs on my mom’s side, so I had to. And ohmigod, Claire. It was sooo awkward! I was like, shivering and cold, and then Dr. Hardy’s phone rang during it – Dear Lord.”

“Kayla, can you point to me where the crackers are?” Barley asks. “They’re my favourite things to have in the morning. Well, all the time, really.”

“Kayla?” Karen sighs. “I keep bringing him to the dry food section, and he always manages to find his way back to the aisle that literally _everyone_ hates being in.”

“Don’t worry.” Claire feels loads better. She hands Karen the five dollars that she owes, taking her groceries. “You helped lots. Thank you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I related to Claire so much at the beginning - zero sleep and ready to pop off on anyone who even slightly irritates you  
>   
> (but simultaneously glad everything's okay, she really is a good friend <3)
> 
> I also missed writing Kai, he's a bean (even if he ruined a VERY SERENDIPITOUS MOMENT IT'S ALRIGHT I GUESS, WE LOVE HIM)
> 
> dw ya'll Trent's not in the next two chapters lmao ik I needed a break from that shit too, it's so unsettling to write
> 
> alright, onto part 2~


	35. The Roommate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 out of a 3 chapter update. Uhh... not much to say here? Other than have fun reading about Gray and Claire's life together! I swear I could write a zillion oneshots for them as roommates, this one was so fun :)

Gray yawns, gets up from her couch, goes to brush his teeth, and returns to flick her lights on. It's so early that the sun hasn't even begun to rise yet.

Claire’s lying horizontal on her bed, face smushed in her pillows. Maggie hops up beside her, wagging her tail and pushing the fabric away with her snout.

She groans. “Gray, turn that light off. I swear to God, I will throw you out.”

“Up, let’s go.”

“Ugh, leave me alone. I really don’t wanna."

“Too bad.”

She cracks one eye open irritably. It's all glassy and glazed over from the lack of sleep. “You’re a horrible roommate.”

“That’s tough. We haven’t trained in awhile.”

“But it’s too cold out.”

“Lookit how big your hallway is though. We’ll train here.”

“Oh, Gray, c’mon-”

“Up.”

“Like, five more minutes.”

“We’ll start with kicking.”

“Oh, I will kick you.”

“Hurry up.”

Begrudgingly, Claire rises, putting on her slippers while Gray waits at her kitchen table impatiently with an instant coffee in hand. It’s growing on him, or he’s developed a tolerance for it now. He's not exactly sure.

It’s not like she has walls or a door separating her bed from the rest of her house, so everything’s just out in the open and exposed. As a result, and probably due to what Trent said, she’s wearing long-sleeved, thick blue pajamas with a white trim that accentuate absolutely nothing. They'd probably be sexy if she just ditched the flannel pants altogether and slept in her underwear like one of those college girls - Jesus, _that'd_ be something. He quits his horny daydreaming when she glares at him, opening her drawer to grab a change of clothes, before disappearing and remerging from her bathroom fully changed a few minutes later.

“Okay, let’s go,” Gray says, taking a sip from the _Central Perk_ mug. 

“One sec,” she mumbles, walking over to her knapsack on the floor.

“Blondie, hurry up.”

“Gray, I could kill you. I really could.”

“Hurry. Up.”

“I’m grabbing something.”

He rolls his eyes. “Grab it later.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“I _really_ can’t.”

“Quit stallin’. Why don’t you just-”

Claire looks up from her backpack, eyes blazing and nostrils flaring. “CAN YOU LEAVE ME ALONE WHILE I TRY TO FIND MY TAMPON IN PEACE?!”

And his genius response is: “… Uh, why?”

She retrieves a purple packaged little… thing between her fingers, scoffing. “I’ll give you one guess.”

“Oh." Gray’s face turns all red. He’s a real idiot sometimes. “Sorry.”

She glowers at him before darting into her bathroom and returning once again. She’s retrieved her boombox as well, shaking her head in annoyance.

“What?”

“Within the first ten minutes of me waking up,” Claire says to him. “I need to be left alone. I’m not a morning person.”

“Yeah, I could tell.”

" _Especially_ when I'm on my period."

"Uh-"

“ _Do not_ wake me up again.”

But he does.

He does it every day, except on Thursdays and Sundays - that’s still his time to sleep in. It's just that Claire needs to learn how to protect herself, and therefore, they need to train together. She complains for the first bit, telling him how dead he is to her, and soon she’s getting back into the groove of it, blocking and maneuvering her hands, exercising what he’s taught her.

“You need to get better,” he says. “You fucking suck right now.”

Claire scoffs, wiping the sweat off of her chin with the back of her hand. “Are you trying to make me angry?!” She attempts to cross his face with her fist, but he blocks it and sends her arm back.

“That’s my only goal in life.”

She’ll then proceed to grab her shitty Sony CD player, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she realizes that he’s managed to sneak in one of his rock CD’s.

“Aw, man!” Claire says in disappointment, hearing the sound of an electric guitar being strummed. “Where’s my 80’s hits?”

“This is better than that.”

“Gray, you’re so bossy.”

“You don’t like Sum 41?” He tries grabbing her arm as a tactic, and she struggles to get him off before kicking her leg out at him. He manipulates his hands around her own, and although she hasn’t completely lost what he taught her, it isn’t as good as it was.

“Not… really.”

“This song’s called ‘Fat Lip.’”

She points to his mouth. “How _fitting_.”

“Smart ass.”

But living with Claire isn’t bad, it’s honestly not. The only time he went back… home was when he had to finish his last jewelry order, and grab the rest of his things. He didn’t pack all of it: just some extra clothes, the bass Claire got him, and his collection of CD’s. His grandfather was nowhere to be found, or maybe he was just hiding out in his room until Gray left. Regardless, with nothing to do, he helps her out on her farm as a thank you for letting him stay there rent-free. Not that she’d ever charge him, but she’s got no idea how much he appreciates this; appreciates _her_. They’re literally always together now, and it’s not a bad thing at all.

Plus, because winter is the busiest season for the Mineral Town clinic, in the time that Trent _should_ be spending with Claire before he leaves, he’s booked to hell with all of the sick residents who live here. She really only sees him the evening before he departs, and as a result, she’s always home. Always with Gray.

He picks up on the little things about her, now that he’s around her more and more. For starters, her accent is so hard to miss now; he hears every single _er_ or _ar_ in her words replaced with a rounded _ah_ , like when she says “bettah” or “depahtment” or “cah” (that’s car). And it’s like, it gets added to the things that he loves about her: her constant baking, how she’s always got something so good in her oven that she's experimented a new recipe with, her overt kindness (excluding the morning time), her laugh, the way that they both never run out of things to talk about.

And while he’s there, they’re not _fighting_.

Okay, they’re still bickering and disagreeing as much as ever (maybe a little bit more actually), but they’re not _fighting_ fighting. It’s really hard to not dispute with her, because as much as Claire possesses a lot of good qualities, she’s definitely not without her faults.

He is too, though. She can get into his later, whatever.

For starters… everything that Claire does, she’s gotta do it while singing or dancing around her house. And nine times outta ten, it’s always to the goddamn 80’s. It’s like she thinks that she’s in some sappy Disney movie or something. And another thing: she’s constantly picking arguments. He didn’t think so many things would tick her off, but jeez… she’s really got a temper that rivals his own. She’s also way too cheerful sometimes, blissfully ignorant to the world around her, and neurotically caring; like, he’s not used to someone giving a shit about him _this_ much.

The worst is probably her stubbornness though… _and Jesus, she is so headstrong it freakin’ hurts._

But that’s just her. Every part of this makes her Claire, and he doesn’t think that he’d want it any other way.

He says that now, but just wait 'till she busts his chops later; just wait.

Manna’s petition to bring back cable television ends up getting achieved; Thomas begrudgingly got it for the town, and because of this, Gray and Claire have found a new thing to keep them busy at night.

They watch _everything_ comedy-related. Sometimes Kai and Popuri come by to view the stand-up specials with them, or to just watch _The Simpsons_ reruns. There’s this one night that all three of the _Austin Powers_ movies are playing on MTV, but Kai cut their evening short, so Gray and Claire are the ones to stay up late and finish them all, dying of laughter. Just watching, the two of them in stitches next to each other. Maggie will be in between them while Claire tucks her legs out to the side, ankles touching his own as she’s out of breath from snickering so much.

And it’s times like this where Gray wonders how he let himself get in such a dark place that night his grandfather threw him out. How he could think all of those horrible things when there's a girl right next to him who makes him realize that it’s not so bad to be breathing.

Sometimes, they’ll catch the hockey game. Most of the time it’s just him watching, because fuck, he missed hockey, and Claire will say goodnight and head off to bed, Maggie following suit. But other times, she’ll watch with him, demand to know why he’s screaming at a television screen when none of the team can hear him, and he’ll have to explain to her that it’s like he’s there in the stands at United Center arena, so yeah, he doesn’t care that they can’t hear him because he’s still gonna be audible. There’s this one evening when her Bruins are versing his Blackhawks, and he’s shouting at the screen, and she’s just laughing at him mid-pizza bite, yelling back when her favourite player fucks up, and he’s okay with this. He’s so okay with life if it’s going to be like this.

But then he’ll be reminded of how things really are, because she’ll get up from the couch, Maggie in arms, telling him goodnight, and he’ll say it right back, and he can’t pinpoint what it is... it's just that _Jesus_ , he’s never slept over a girl's house in separate beds than them. It’s… different.

Sometimes she feels different. Sometimes there’s a moment that they share where things feel different. Not bad… just different.

During the day, he’ll fish in the cold with her; something his dad proclaims that he’s good at, even though this is the farthest thing from the truth. Or, he’ll help her carry the milk from her cows into her maker sheds, then transport them over to her fridge so she doesn't have to make so many trips. He doesn’t hate being on the farm with her, but he hates how rundown the barns are.

“Done,” Gray says, pulling an extra nail out from between his lips. He’s reminded of the ghostly feeling of a cigarette that used to burn up and decay itself there, so he decides to stop remembering, dropping his hammer to the side. “You’re good.”

“Thank you!” Claire exclaims, marveling at the fixed plank wood. “That was driving me nuts. It was always letting a draft in here.”

He rolls his eyes. “So why didn’t you fix it?”

“And how would you have liked me to fix it?”

“By getting someone useful who could.”

 _“By getting someone useful who could,”_ she mimics. They’ve been watching way too much Robin Williams stand-up comedy. “I was _going_ to call Gotz, but he’s always busy. Plus, sometimes I’m a little afraid to talk to him. He’s like, 7 foot and über scary.”

“Okay, first of all, him and me are the same height-”

“Well, you’re not scary.”

“Right.”

“You’re not. Not really, anyway.”

“ _Second_ , he charges way too much. Just tell me and I’ll fix what needs fixing.”

Claire arches her brow. “Really.”

“Just not your lock. You gotta call someone for that like I keep saying, ‘cause I’m no good with those, but literally anything else.”

“You can add potlights to my kitchen?”

“Duh.”

“And you can reattach the knobs on my middle cabinet?”

“Yes?”

“And you can install a fireplace?!”

“K, back it up.” Gray manages a laugh. “I didn’t say I could do full reno’s.”

Claire smiles at him, digging her hands into her jacket as they both step out of her barn. Maggie follows them, hopping around in the snow and diving her head under the large piles that are beginning to fall. “And here I thought you were just some useless city snob.”

“You got it all wrong,” Gray says with a chuckle, holding the front door open for her. “My dad was making me do this shit when I was like, five years old. As if I cared about any of it.”

“Well, this is what I’m thinking. I’d put the fireplace right here,” she says holding her hands out like she’s framing a picture in her mind. She adjusts her direction to the bare wall across from the left side of her kitchen. “Mark my words, I’m gonna save up my money so I can have it installed here one day, and then my house will be _allll_ complete and cozy.”

He leans back, considering it. “Work on getting a dishwasher first, ‘cause I’m always breaking your shit in the sink.”

“I’m keeping a mental note.” Claire taps her head carefully. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten. You’re forever indebted to me.”

“Guess I am,” he says.

* * *

The night Kai leaves with Popuri, the gang gathers at the inn one last time, until the two return next summer. He bakes two pans of brownies: one batch regular, and one batch, er, special.

He incorrectly labels them.

… You know where this is going.

_“Hey, the ones with weed in them… those were on left hand side, right?” Kai asks, frowning. He’s not feeling anything right now._

_Popuri looks up at him from the edge of the boat they’re on, her head spinning dizzily. “Kai… they were the ones on the right hand side!!”_

_He stares at his loopy girlfriend. “Ah, fuck.”_

Claire stumbles into her house with Gray beside her like she’s walking on a cloud, giggling like crazy over literally nothing. He holds her in tow, laughing.

Here’s a math problem: if Gray had three pieces from both batches, and Claire had three pieces from what he can only suspect is a grossly-mislabeled batch, then how fucked are they _both_ going to get tonight?

“Psst,” she whispers.

“Hmm?” he asks.

_“Psssssst.”_

“What?”

“When you erase a word.”

“Yeah?”

She widens her eyes. “Where does it go?”

“I dunno.”

She giggles again, flopping down on the couch as he takes a seat next to her. Maggie jumps up and licks her cheek, causing her to look down in surprise like she’s never seen a dog before.

Gray’s been high plenty of times, so the edibles aren’t hitting him _that_ hard.

Claire’s never even taken a dosage of Tylenol 3.

“Wanna hear a joke?”

“Go ahead,” he says, leaning back on the couch next to her. The world is spinning in a good way.

“So a guy walks into a bar.”

“Ah-huh.”

“Ouch.”

“What?”

“Ouch it was a steel bar.”

Yeah, those brownies were definitely mislabeled.

Claire is just busy laughing, cracking herself up, because _her high is basically just as lame as her sober counterpart._

“Do you wanna hear one?”

“Yeah,” she says, staring up at the ceiling like it’s got the stars outside written all over it. Snow is falling from her window, like an intricate white blanket over the earth.

“What do you call a cheap circumcision?"

"I dunno... what?"

"A rip off.”

Claire pauses, before gasping and laughing hard. “You are sooo bad.”

“You’re laughing.”

“I’m laughing ‘cause it's funny that you're a guy, and that joke could... or could not apply to you aaaand-" She cuts herself off, face suddenly creeping red. "And I said all that in my mind, right?"

Gray just leans into her and laughs, shaking his head. "Sure."

Claire covers her face, mortified. "I'm gonna stop talking now."

"Never thought I'd hear you say that."

She tilts her head at his side profile like she’s inspecting him. “You have a nice nose.”

“I thought you were gonna stop talking."

"You do, though."

"Thanks.”

“You have a Roman nose.”

“Greek.”

“But it _looks_ Roman.”

He doesn’t know what this means. “Okay.”

“You look like Hercules from the Disney movie.” She pauses. “I hate mine.”

“Your what?”

“My _nooose._ ”

“How come?”

“Pointy.” She’s absently poking her own nose now, pressing down on the tip so it becomes all upturned.

“It ain’t pointy.”

Claire goes cross eyed to stare at it, before hanging upside down from her couch with another giggle. Her bangs are all fluffed out, lacking the gravity to remain on her forehead. “It is.”

Gray’s stare is fixated on her mouth. His head is dizzy in the best way possible. It’s so much tamer than a coke high, but not as numbing as any benzo.

She shuts her eyes.

“You’re high, Blondie.”

“You always say that when I say something dumb.”

“No, like I mean it.”

One eye flies open. “Huh?”

“Like, you’re literally high.”

The other eye follows. “Are you lying?”

“I’m not. At least, I think I’m not.”

Claire stares back at the ceiling before panic mode sets in while she’s upside down. “Ohhh, my gosh, _what_ am I gonna tell Carter?!”

“… You’re not?”

“He’s gonna be so disappointed!!”

“He doesn’t give a fuck.”

“Gray, I’ve _never_ done drugs.”

“We know.”

“ _Ever_. I was on an anti-drug committee in high school-”

“So I heard.”

She shuts her eyes again, shaking her head. “I’m ruined. This is it for me. My life is out of control.”

_Ha._

“I’m gonna kill Kai.”

“Gonna have to wait until next summer,” Gray tells her.

Claire snaps her fingers, then brings them to her face. The moonlight illuminates her long eyelashes and translucent skin so beautifully. “Oh, gosh… is that why I feel so loopy?”

“Mhm.”

“… Fudge.”

“Hm?”

“Fork.”

“… What.”

“Firetruck.”

“What are you doing?”

“Saying f words that aren’t actually,” she drops her voice low. “The f word. Fudgsicles.”

Gray shakes his head and laughs at her. “You know what? This… this is the epitome of how friggin’ lame you are. Like, only you high would ever be this uncool.”

“… Fuck. Off.”

And he actually widens his own eyes because is _he_ tripping out? He never expected to hear her swear, not in his whole, entire life.

Claire grabs his arm and raises herself up, sniggering into the sleeve of it. “I said _that_ one in my mind.”

“… You fully did not.”

She stares at him in shock again and almost starts to hyperventilate, because she believes that this is her one way ticket into hell. Then she says she feels sick. He thinks it’s all because she swore, but then remembers that she accidentally consumed triple the amount of edibles that she _should_ have.

She runs to her bathroom to vomit, and Gray has to hold her hair back, returning the favour of caretaking. She cries and apologizes, says that her head is spinning, that she feels like she’s going to die, and he tries his very best to relax her. Yeah, he is fully never telling her about his drugs.

… Life with Claire is just never a dull moment.

* * *

“Hey, are you up?”

“Ugh,” Gray mutters. “I am now.”

Claire sits on the floor near him while he’s asleep on her couch. She’s just taken a much-needed shower, combing through her wet locks with nimble fingers. “Sorry I got so messed up last night.”

He brings his hat over his face with a chuckle. “Not your fault you have zero tolerance for any kind of substances.”

She chews her cheek, still having a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that she tried _weed_. She knew it would be at the party, she tried not to be a prude about this… which is why she thought she was _avoiding_ the brownies. And then she puked in front of him and he had to _help_ her. Dear Lord, she’s never passing any judgement on anyone ever again. She's just going to have to try and completely block this embarrassment from her memory. “Well, thanks for taking care of me.”

“I owed you, Blondie,” says Gray absently, like he’s drifting off again. “You’re solid, don’t worry.”

Claire gets up to sit down on the other side of the couch where his ankles are. She moves them over gently, clutching the television remote in her other hand. “Wanna chill out and watch _Animaniacs_?”

“I am chilling out, and I don’t need cartoons for that.”

“Oh, c’mon. You’ll love it.”

He does love it. He doesn’t say so because he’ll never be one to admit to anything, but he definitely does.

“I went to confession this morning,” Claire tells him during the commercial break.

“Yeah? What’d Carter say.”

“I think he was trying hard not to laugh about the circumcision joke.”

“... You're somethin' else, Blondie.”

Living with Gray isn’t bad at all, not even in the slightest. It’s interesting, sure: for starters, she’s never lived with any kind of men before… ever, so it’s different. She’d like to advocate that girls make _way_ better roommates for girls, because they understand females better (obviously)… but she’d be lying if she said that she isn’t having any fun.

Except last night. Last night was _not_ fun… _we’re just not going to think about last night._

Gray is good to be around. He may be a self-proclaimed miserable shit, but she’s so lucky to have him in her life. For starters, underneath that mean exterior, he really is kind and sweet. He hardly shows this side to anyone, sometimes not even to her, but she knows it’s there and when it does come out, it’s irrefutable. He’s funny, with a sarcastic quick-wit that Claire wishes she had half of. He’s sensitive too… _c’mon now, don’t laugh_. She’s being serious, he really can be at times. Once, he burned her spaghetti that she told him to keep an eye on after she went to help Ann with something, because he accidentally set the temperature 300 degrees hotter when he was trying to find her oven light, thus igniting dinner on fire inside. And then he ran to the supermarket and returned with Instant Ramen because he didn’t know how to make anything else. She was initially pissed upon coming home, because there was smoke literally everywhere in her house, but it _was_ a really thoughtful gesture looking back.

Y'know, could have all been avoided if he just stopped touching crap, but Claire digresses.

Lord though… Gray sure as hell does _not_ come without his problems. Yeah, he’s got good qualities, but she's curated a list of _all_ the bad: he's rude, smug, cocky, snarky, freakin’ _clueless_ when it comes to women; and she knew all of this before, but it seems elevated now that they’re living together. Plus he is _so_ rough with everything that he does. He keeps knocking her newly-opened box of tampons over when he’s grabbing the Q-Tips, he puts them back wrong, he’s broken like, three glasses because he keeps accidentally catching stuff with his elbows, and he never does his laundry right. And don’t even get her started on the fact that he’s raised her showerhead higher because of how tall he is, and now when _she_ showers, it’s like she’s waiting at the bottom of a damn waterfall.

The worst, _the worst_ is probably his stubbornness though… _and holy smokes, he is so pigheaded it freakin’ hurts._

He’s vulgar too; volatile, vexatious, and _vulgar._ Maybe it’s her fault for not knowing… stuff, but gosh, does _everything_ that he knows about have an Urban Dictionary counterpart?

“How can you _not_ like vanilla?” Claire asks him one day. She pops her spoonful of ice cream in her mouth, savoring the flavour. The supermarket just restocked on _Breyers_ , and _no, it is never too cold to have ice cream._ “It’s the superior king of all flavours.”

Gray makes a face. “It’s literally not a flavour.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not. It’s plain.”

She points to his chocolate ice cream. “So, you’re saying chocolate is better than vanilla.”

“Of course it’s better.”

“But it’s fully not. Vanilla is the base flavour for _all_ other great flavours.”

“No, it’s shit.” Gray shakes his head. “You’re not selling me on this one, Blondie.”

She shrugs. “You’re just wrong then.”

And then he removes his hat, arching his studded brow and leaning back in the chair. He's always so unphased and nonchalant, sometimes she wishes she could take a page out of his books. “I don’t like vanilla nothing. Vanilla cookies, vanilla protein powder, vanilla sex-”

She stares at him. “What is vanilla sex?”

“Like, boring. Y’know, zero roughness, conventional, exclusively-missionary.” He smirks at her blank reaction. “You don’t even know what missionary is, do you?”

Claire scoffs, her cheeks red. “Of course I do.”

“Really? What is it then.”

“I don’t have to tell you,” she says, face burning.

“Ah-huh.”

“And plus… I think there’s a different definition of it from Boston to Chicago. Like, it doesn’t uh, translate the same:”

He chuckles. “You know, there’s nothing wrong with not knowing.”

“Ugh, of course I know!”

She does not know.

Do you see what she means though?! Why is he so foul-mouthed, and why does he know _so_ much more than her?

_That’s rhetorical, please don’t answer it._

But they have fun together. She teaches him how to bake, he ruins the recipe; he helps her with a better fishing technique, she loses the worm. It’s pretty much fifty-fifty. And the great thing is that they’re not arguing.

Well, they are, but they’re not _fighting_. He assists her with stuff on her farm that she needs help with, comes with her foraging, gets her a better deal on the things that they pawn off to Won, and she teaches this city snob how to tend to her animals, shearing her sheep or milking her cows. He explains to her how to play poker, even though she’s obviously terrible at it, and she’ll just jam out to the radio at night, dancing while cooking dinner as he sits by with his bass in hand, trying to match the chords or see if they can find any common ground on a song. They share stories of their past lives, and the world is so wonderful to have a best friend in.

But then sometimes, there’s something that she can’t quite place. Like, no matter how hard she tries, she cannot place it for the life of her.

Or, she just won't let herself place it.

“Blondie!”

Claire frowns, her thoughts interrupted by the sound of Gray's voice coming from her bathroom. “Huh?”

“C’mere.”

Timidly, she walks over, standing on the opposite side of the closed door.

His head pokes out. He has soap suds all over his chest, down where she can only see his muscular pectoral. Nothing else is visible and _jeez, thank God for that._ The noise of the shower running elicits in her ears.

“I’m out of conditioner.”

Claire picks a spot on her wall and keeps her eyes on that, face flushed. He’s so shameless sometimes. “… Okay.”

“Can I use yours?”

She finally stares at him incredulously. “ _That’s_ why you called me? Jeez, I thought it was something important.”

“This is important.”

“Sure, whatever. Have fun smelling like a chick.”

“My goal.”

She pauses at the innuendo. “… You’re an animal, Gray.”

He grins, shutting the door.

She shakes her head, only to find her dog looking up at her all expectantly.

“What?!” Claire demands.

* * *

“So, why don’t they do Christmas here?” she wonders, stepping into the supermarket with Gray.

“They used to. Some of 'em still do. But one night, when that bald shit was newly appointed mayor, he apparently had a dream he got laid by that… Goddess in the lake or something? Like, bareback-”

“Gray!!” Claire exclaims, shushing him. Karen looks up from the cash register, playing on a _GameBoy Advance_ and waving over at them. “That’s terrible.”

“I’m not kidding, I overheard Manna telling Sasha that. And in the ‘Harvest Goddess deity tradition’, they do a Starry Night Festival to appreciate all of the constellations in the sky. And Thomas was like, horny for that, and he changed it. I think he thinks if he does, his dream’ll come true eventually, or whatever.” Gray rolls his eyes, crouching down to pick up some _Frosted Flakes_ on the lower shelf. “Like, people here know what the regular holidays are, but they’re just not celebrated."

“Weird,” remarks Claire.

“Yeah, it is weird.”

“We’ll celebrate our own Christmas, then.”

“Alright, Blondie,” he says with a smile.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” she scoffs.

“I’m not. You probably just have something stuck in your teeth.”

“I hate you,” Claire groans, making her way over to talk to Karen.

“What’s the verdict?” Karen asks, looking up from her video game. It’s Rick’s Pokémon one that she hijacked. “You staying with Trent for the Starry Night Festival?”

Claire rolls her eyes, leaning against the shelf. “Duh. He’s not coming back until the morning of, though.”

Karen raises her brows. The little _ding!_ sound that the bell makes to signify a customer entering the store chimes. “So, you’re sleeping over?”

“Oh.” Claire chews the inside of her cheek, standing up straight from the counter. “I… I dunno. I didn’t _think_ so.”

“I mean, you guys are dating. I feel like that’s what he’s expecting.” Karen shrugs. “You better ask him, but if you’re not down to, don’t sweat it.”

Claire’s head is swimming with this newfound proposition - how could this _not_ have crossed her mind? These anxious thoughts all interrupted when she hears arguing behind her.

“Listen to me.”

“Why don’t you bite me, old man?”

“I need to talk to you,” Saibara pleads in a hushed whisper. He tries reaching for his grandson, but Gray swats his hand away. “I’ve been holding off… but shit, son, you have to-”

“You can fuck off, alright?” snaps Gray, seething. “Because-”

“This is gonna end _badly_ for you if-”

“What the hell? Who fights in a supermarket?” Karen demands, her voice booming across the store. “Knock it off or get out!”

And Gray shoots his grandfather a glare, nodding over at Claire to signify that he’s getting the hell out of there.

Only he forgets to put back the _Cinnamon Toast Crunch_ when he leaves, though.

“And the sonuvabitch just stole from us,” says Karen incredulously. She stares at the swinging doors he's stormed out of.

Claire knows that when Gray’s pissed to hell, he’s searing and doesn’t realize half the shit that’s actually going on around him. She sighs, tossing Karen a few one-dollar bills. “Here.”

“Make sure he pays you back!”

But Claire’s not giving any attention to this; she’s watching as Saibara does his best to look everywhere except at her. She gives him a gentle and sad wave, and for a brief moment, he looks up, before tearing his eyes away, exiting the store.

No, seriously, _what_ is going on in her life?

* * *

Claire returns home, only to find Gray laying back on her couch, his nose buried in a library book. “Thanks for leaving me with the tab.”

He looks up, ready to argue, but just sighs. “Sorry. I honestly wasn’t thinking.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“My wallet’s over there… take a five out. Actually, take whatever, I don’t care. I owe you way more for everything.”

“I don’t care about the money.” Claire sits on the end of the couch. “What just happened?”

“My grandfather came lookin’ for me.”

“Yeah, but why?”

“Fuck if I know. Why do you care?”

She shakes her head. “Gray… what was your fight about?”

He stares at her with those icy blue eyes, returning them back to his novel. “Nothing you’d ever understand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really love these two alright <3 I had so many other dirty jokes that I could have included here... but I really didn't want anyone to get offended, so apparently I thought that one was the safest bet lmao. This is coming from the same individual who included this at the end of a PowerPoint for a religion presentation back in elementary school:   
> so idk if I possess the best judgement xD I was dying when I stumbled across it the other day and thought I would share it, like I just... I wonder what my teacher was thinking in that moment lmaoo  
> aaand onto part 3!


	36. The Tugging of the Heartstrings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 of a 3 chapter update. Just as a trigger warning, this chapter does contain the discussion of depression and suicide toward the end. I needed to put that disclaimer out there. Thank you 🧡

His bad mood is gone the next day, and everything appears to be seemingly back to normal. _Well, not_ _quite_ ; Claire feels that every time she finds something out about Gray, there’s always more to uncover. He’s like a Russian doll of secrets.

But the next time that he ever, ever... _ever_ has the audacity to call _her_ a ballbuster, she’s going to plant video cameras all around her house as proof for the numerous amount of times that he’s insufferably busting _her_ balls. (Er, figuratively?)

She’ll be sitting by her dresser and mirror, in attempt to put on her lip gloss, when he’ll just come out of nowhere to taser her sides from behind. She, being ticklish as hell, will scream bloody murder, the sticky pink makeup smeared all over her skin as she runs after him.

_“YOU ARE SO DEAD!”_

Or she’ll be baking, and of course, _of course_ he offers to assist her in some way, shape, or form. But his helpfulness gets negated because he'll add too much of something, therefore ruining the entire recipe.

“Ohh, it didn’t call for half a cup of baking powder, it was supposed to be half a _teaspoon,_ ” says Gray, fiddling with his cap. "Ah, shit."

“You need to get your sorry-ass out of my kitchen _now_.”

The final straw is the evening before the Starry Night Festival. Trent’s returning home tomorrow, and after talking with him on the phone, did in fact indicate that he hoped they’d be spending their night together. He promises to cook for her, and says that he’s planned a big surprise when he gets back. She misses him, and now, her head is swarmed with nervous possibilities as she struggles to focus on all of her farm work. A snowstorm already begins to come down hard once she’s finished collecting her chicken eggs, Maggie in tow behind her.

Something cold hits the side of her head, needles of freezing snow searing around her bare ear. It didn't hurt, but the sudden shock of it is almost painful to her sensitive skin. She turns to see Gray, smiling smugly with another snowball balanced in his hands.

_Yeah, he's dead._

Mouth agape, she places her basket down, frantically picking up some snow so that she can quickly shoot one back. “You’re such an idiot!!”

He dodges her throw, tossing another one at her shoulder. “Pfft, you looked like a-”

Claire just runs up to him with snow in her hands instead, screaming like she's having a real bitchfit. A Regina George tantrum style at its finest, but she's honestly ready to kill him. She manages to grab his hood, pulling on it to drop the snow onto his neck, inside of his jacket.

He freezes, recoiling from the exposure of his bare skin, swearing and chasing after her. She snickers as she runs, before tripping over her own boots into the white, blanketed ground. This effectively gives him the opportunity to catch up to her and snatch her in one of his arms.

“Gray, stop!!” she exclaims through her laughter. “Ugh, let go!”

“I don’t like the cold,” he mutters, tossing snow onto her face. She shrieks, her cheeks all pinched and frigid as she laughs until her sides hurt.

“You’re so… YOU ARE SO DEAD!”

He grins, releasing her and dropping her into a snowbank. “LET’S GO THEN.”

Even though he is _so_ royally cheesing her right now, it's good to see him having fun like this. She loves seeing him happy.

Maggie barks next to him, balancing on her hind legs and wanting in on the action.

“Hey!” cries a little voice. May is running toward the entrance of Claire’s farm, her pigtailed hair coated with snow - a clear indicator that she's been outside for hours already, playing with Stu. “Take that, ice scum!” She whips a series of miniature snowballs, aiming for the top of Gray’s rusted locks. “Don’t worry, Claire. I got ya!”

“Agh,” he complains. “Not my hair.”

“Ice scum!” cries Stu behind her, chucking one very large snowball at the back of his head. Gray swears (despite Claire's instruction of not to do it in front of the kids), sporadically throwing a series of snowballs at them like he's in a game of dodgeball.

“You have to go easy on them,” Claire tells him through her giggling, successfully jutting another one at his ears. “They’re _children_.”

He shudders, tossing a snowball at her chin and shaking his head. “No mercy.”

She’s _so_ cold, covered in snow from her bra to her toes. The goosebumps on her skin feel like they’re about to freeze off. She tries to tackle Gray, but he’s way too strong, and he ends up squeezing her against himself, taking her down sideways with him, into the snowbank.

He hoists himself off, body hovering over hers. They stare at each other like it's just them two there, until May jumps onto his back.

“Ice scum!” she cries, rubbing snow all over his head. “Ginger alien ice scum dummy!”

“Not the hair,” he grumbles. “Or the ears.”

Claire just listens to the drum of her own heart pounding in her chest.

* * *

“I’m _frozen_ ,” she says, wringing out her soaked scarf. Elli came to grab the kids because it had gotten so much darker outside, and the flurries were picking up at an alarming rate. Claire’s just glad that Trent is returning home to safe, clear skies tomorrow, because there's an absolute blizzard right now. She even gave him the rosary that Manna made her for protection. “I need to take a hot shower.”

Gray kicks off his boots, racing toward her bathroom. Maggie runs after him like she thinks that this is some kind of game.

“Gray, no!" Claire protests. "THAT’S NOT FAIR.”

“Tough.”

_Worst roommate ever._

“Gray!”

And then her power cuts out.

“Ah, shit.”

“Serves you right.” Claire smiles smugly, blindly reaching for a few candles from her drawers that Popuri got her. It’s pitch black in her home. “Now you’re gonna have to eat cold pizza.”

“I don't care, I'll eat anything,” he tells her, grabbing a lighter from the pocket of his track pants to ignite a candle.

“You have a lighter?”

He doesn’t bother responding to this; just lights a few more. “I’ve gotten fat living here this winter.”

“Oh, please.” Claire rolls her eyes, taking out her matchbox. The candles are only starting to produce a dim light around the room, so she grabs a couple more. “You could never get fat.”

Gray lifts the hemline of his damp flannel that he's wearing to reveal his v-line obliques and chiseled abdominals. It’s still pretty dark, and the minimal light only makes the contours of his muscles appear more prominent. He pinches virtually nothing. “See?”

Claire stays quiet and just lights another candle, setting them on her kitchen counter. “You’re fine.”

He reaches into his pockets to remove his wallet, dropping it onto the table, and frowning when he sees the wet corner of a piece of paper sticking out. Taking a seat in the chair, he unfolds it and smiles fondly.

“What’s that?” she asks, suddenly curious. She takes a seat across from him.

He holds it out for her, careful not to catch it on the flame of the candles between them. It’s a photo that’s been folded up one too many times, creased and worn out. In it, Gray is leaning against the outside of an old, gold Toyota, looking away from the shot. Kai however, is grinning in the passenger seat.

“Oh. It’s… a car.”

“A what?”

She frowns. “Your car?”

“My cah?”

Claire rolls her eyes at his cocky little smirk. If Gray thinks that he can make fun of _her_ accent, she's got a lot more to say about his own rough one. “You’re such a loser.” There’s a girl in the background of the photograph too, as though she's really trying to get in the shot. “Who’s that?”

He shrugs. “Some broad Kai knew. Her friend took the picture. I kept it in case the thing ever got stolen.”

“Nice.”

“What, you don’t like my car? Not up to the standards of whatever your boyfriend drives?”

Trent had told her once that he drove a Bentley back home, and because she doesn’t know the value of virtually any automotive company, she won’t bother sharing this information with Gray. “No, it’s a wicked car.”

She almost winces. Even she can hear the Boston in her own voice with that comment.

“It’s a piece of shit,” Gray laughs. “But thanks. It’s really my dad’s. Maybe I’ll take you to see it someday.”

“You want me to go to Chicago? What am I gonna do there?”

“It’ll be like Ferris’ day off, y’know? You go to Wrigley Field, you see the bean, you take a joyride around the city; all that good, touristy shit.”

“I haven’t been in a car in ten years,” she says.

“You never got your license?” He smirks.

“No like, I literally haven’t ridden in a car since the accident.”

Gray stares at her. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“How’d you get around then?”

“Well, I have two feet that aren’t broken,” she says with a soft laugh. “Plus, I wasn’t going anywhere really. Wasn’t allowed.”

“K, but what about work?”

“What do you mean? I took the subway or the bus. You're a real snob, eh?”

He smiles. “I'm about as snobby as you can get in a crappy old Camry.”

Claire pauses before drumming her nails on the table. “I'm gonna ask you a question.”

“Ah-huh.”

“But you don’t have to answer.”

“Hmm.”

“Did you lose your virginity in that car?”

He smiles sheepishly. “No actually.”

“Wow, I’m surpr-”

“Not in that car.”

“…”

“First time was in her car. _Second_ time was in my car.”

“Oh, God,” Claire snickers. “I’m sorry I asked.”

Gray stares at the photograph again, before folding it back up as though he never even took it out. “We let Kai’s family take care of the car. Pretty sure it just sits in their restaurant parking lot. We told ‘em they could use it, but they got a better ride than us, so they prob’ly wouldn’t be caught dead in it. They just said… y’know, it’s there if we ever come back.”

“… But you’re not going back, right?”

He smirks. “And what if I do?”

“Well, who else is gonna kill the spiders for me on my ceiling without having to grab a chair?”

“You’d manage,” says Gray, before pausing. “We sold our place in Chicago, so I’m stuck here for awhile… Well, you’re stuck with me.”

“God,” says Claire. “Can’t think of anything worse.”

“I got a question for you," he tells her, cocky demeanor taking flight. "What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

“Huh?”

“I remember I told you mine, but I never heard yours.”

She arches a brow, getting up to retrieve the tupperware of pizza from her fridge. It’s so nasty when it’s cold; she doesn’t understand how anybody could prefer eating it like this, but they’ve got no other way of heating it up without any power. “Why?”

“Maybe I’m tryna get your good girl image outta my head.”

Claire grips the container tightly, turning red from his comment. _This guy's got zero filter._ She sets the pizza down carefully on the table, clearing her throat. “Okay, well, I got high and I swore, so there, that’s two things-”

“Nah, I’m talking nitty gritty,” says Gray, reaching for a slice. He tosses a piece of the cheese to Maggie on the floor, looking over at Claire expectantly.

She suddenly feels very suspicious of him. “Y’know, I get the feeling that you slashing your teacher's tires wasn’t the worst thing _you’d_ done.”

He hides a silly smirk. “Not even close.”

“So you lied to me! Why should I even tell you then?”

“I didn’t lie, I just picked something else outta my bad bin.”

“That’s not fair, you have to tell _me_ the worst thing now. And be honest!”

He chews thoughtfully. “Worst immoral… or worst illegal?”

Claire is extremely dubious of him now. “And you’ll tell me? Really?”

Gray shrugs. “Dunno if you can handle it.”

“Well, you admitted to lying and that breaks pinky promise code, so you gotta.”

He pauses, before swallowing his bite. His matted hair clings to his forehead. “The worst illegal thing I did was impersonate a cop.”

“Oh dear.”

“… And steal the cop car.”

She widens her eyes. “You’re such a liar.”

“I swear to God.”

“You swear off your life?”

“I swear off _your_ life, and I don’t fuck around with that shit.”

Claire considers this, and then her eyes go all big again. “A cop car?!”

“My mom was _pissed_.”

“Well, yeah, I don’t blame her! Why’d you do that?”

“‘Cause I was fucked, Blondie.”

“You couldn’t talk your way outta that one?”

Gray frowns. “Well, I didn’t get arrested… I got off on a warning ‘cause the cop knew my mom. And she had to stop yelling at me that night ‘cause she had such a bad headache. My dad was never the one to give me shit, so she had to drop it. And you know what I said?”

“What?”

Regret spreads over his words. “‘Just take a Tylenol then.’”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.” He pauses again. “So, what’d you do?”

“I don’t really have categories like you.”

“‘Cause you’re boring.”

“But the worst thing I ever did… like ever, was starve myself.”

His face is all confused. “Huh?”

Claire slowly gets up, opening her luggage that she arrived in Mineral Town with to retrieve a brown-binded book. She hesitantly brings it over to the table, looking through its contents in order to flip to the correct school choir page. She really doesn’t want to see those photographs right now, so she just turns it over to him.

“When I was growing up, people made a lot of comments about my body. Everyone, even the nuns at the convent. And they suggested a surgery for me, but I did _not_ wanna go through anything like that ever again.”

“Surgery for what?” Gray asks, frowning. His eyes are busy scanning the page, fixed on the skeleton she used to be.

“A breast reduction,” she sighs.

He looks up at her, eyes nowhere on her chest. “Oh.”

“Yeah. It was hard to shop for me, and they kept pushing the idea… I think they thought it would keep me out of trouble too — not that I was in any trouble regardless. But I just stopped eating in hopes that I’d lose weight everywhere so I didn’t have to keep feeling pressured to go through with it. I literally just wanted to go down a bra size, and I did… but then I went down in everything else, and it just got way too out of control.”

Gray stares at a picture of her as a junior, in her uniformed blue/black checkered skirt and white polo. Her thighs aren’t even touching, and although she’s forcing a smile, her eyes are sunken in. She remembers the creepy senior who took that picture too, the one who'd been held back about three years and who told her she’d be a lot prettier if she tried smiling with her teeth.

“You look better now. Like, healthier,” Gray tells her, scanning the photos again. She’s in quite a few, but looks miserable in every single one. “You do.”

Claire sheepishly turns her face away. “Thanks. Wish I felt it.” She still isn't totally happy with her body, but is grateful not to be afraid of food anymore, even if it did take a lot of healing to get to that point.

 _It helps to not have people chirping in your ear about what your body should and should not look like too,_ she thinks resentfully. 

“Nah, you look fantastic now. You’re too thin in here, you looked unhappy.”

“I was, but I wanted to be skinny and flat like that. I thought it’d get everyone off my back. I got to cook most of the dinners at the convent, but for like, a solid year, I just didn’t eat much of anything.”

Gray frowns. “That’s shit.”

Claire gets up to put the yearbook away. Part of her wishes that she never took it out, but it’s just Gray, and she's never been afraid to show herself to him. It’s always so easy to be comfortable around him. “Your worst thing is more exciting than mine!”

He’s still rifling through the pages, his thumb stopping on one slowly as his eyes immediately grow dark.

Claire looks over his shoulder to what he’s staring at. _Oh, Lord._ She instantly knows exactly what it is: it’s that signature page where one of the idiot jocks wrote: _can’t wait to shov my dick b/w those tits._

She scribbled it out with black pen, but the weight of these blue inked words remains all the same.

“I really don’t know why he wrote that,” Claire murmurs, embarrassed. She snatches the book into her own arms so Gray can’t see it anymore. “Everyone was passing their yearbooks around in class, and he signed mine despite never even talking to me. But my uniform was still pretty tight on my chest, despite losing weight, and I guess he must have noticed... must have thought that made me easy or something.”

“That’s fucking sick,” mutters Gray. “I would have punched his goddamn lights out.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. Why didn’t you rip it out?”

She turns the page, reluctantly placing the book back down in front of him. “’Cause on the back was my prom spread.”

There’s a picture of her at her junior prom, smiling next to three other girls from her convent. They stand outside of the church in colourful, candy-coloured dresses, clutching their knockoff purses and white corsages. She wonders what they’re all up to now; they were only close by default because they lived together.

“Is that where you grew up?”

She forces a smile. “Yeah. That’s the front of my convent. My school was super cheap, so the students had to be the ones to submit their pictures for yearbook 'cause they didn’t take any. The head nun took this one.”

God, this is _such_ an embarrassing photo of her at the age of sixteen. She feels like an awkward, ugly duckling in it.

_It’s the end of 2004, and still no sign of any swan-age._

“Nice hair,” Gray says sarcastically. He gestures to her twisted, wild updo, secured with those little butterfly clips that she still loves. She hasn’t _totally_ lost who she used to be.

“I did it myself,” Claire points out, remembering how carefully they all had to walk in those five blocks to the venue, so the wind wouldn’t perturb their overly-gelled curls. "But God, looking back now, I looked like a total spaz."

“Why the past tense?”

“Y'know, if you... effed off now, you'd have a head start.”

He smirks. “Nice retainer too.”

“Oh, my gosh, you are _so_ annoying.” She opens her mouth and points to the back of her top teeth. “I still have a permanent one.”

He opens his own mouth and gestures toward the bottom of his. “So do I.” He stares at her. “Thanks for telling me all that. You didn’t have to.”

“I tell you everything,” Claire says, taking the yearbook to go and bury it back in her luggage.

This is about 95% true.

He’s still staring at her when she resumes her seat across from him. “The other bad thing I did… like, the immoral thing is that I fucked some girl in the back of her Mormon church.”

She rolls her eyes. “Good one.”

He deadpans, taking a sip of his water. She widens her eyes and swats a napkin at him.

“You’re being serious?!”

He shrugs, all cocky. “Whoops.”

“You are _so_ going to hell!”

“Eh, I’ll live with that.”

“What were you doing at a Mormon church anyway?”

“I dunno, me and this girl hooked up once before, and she asked if I could go pick her up at this address on a Saturday evening. I get to the building… and it looked like a bunch of mini Sears Towers. So I went in ‘cause I was all confused.”

“And…”

Gray arches his brow. “You want me to tell you how I did it?”

She blushes. “That’s it, though? You went in and-”

“Well, yeah, she was waiting out back for me.”

“… And you see nothing wrong with this.”

“You wanna sue me?”

“That’s terrible, Gray.”

He shrugs, sipping his water again. “You see, that was a test.”

“Oh, it didn’t actually happen?”

“No, it happened alright. It was a test to see how you’d react, though. You failed.”

She makes a face. “What do you mean?”

“You judge and judge.” Gray looks over at her like he anticipated this very reaction. “And this is why I can’t tell you _every_ thing.”

She scoffs. “Yes, you can.”

“No. Believe me, I can’t.”

Suddenly, Claire feels defensive of herself. “Well, sorry, it’s just a little jarring-”

“I accept your apology.”

And she figures there’s really no reasoning with him.

“You know, I really can’t with you, Gray. I do _not_ judge,” she tells him coldly. Maybe she _does_ sometimes, but doesn’t everybody? Everybody’s got opinions, and she doesn’t try to make anyone feel bad for what they do. Sometimes her reactions are blunt, but she wouldn’t consider herself… overly judgmental. If Gray wants to see _real_ judgment, he should try stepping foot in her convent. “Look, I just don’t know _anyone_ like you, and when you tell me stuff it’s… I dunno. I’m so lame, I don’t even ride in cars.”

Gray gives her another smirk. “I told you I’ll take you for a joyride.”

“I don’t think I wanna be in your car!” Claire exclaims with a laugh.

“You shoulda seen Kai’s. _Waaay_ worse. And his ma’s religious, so she was like, inspectin’ it all the time and-”

“Oh, jeez.”

“'Oh, jeez' is right. She’s just happy he found someone like Popuri, though. Like, beyond happy that he’s settling down.”

“Which is something you’ll never do.”

“What do you care what I do?” he asks.

“Just stating a fact.” Her stomach growls like she's starving, so she grabs a slice of pizza for herself. “Tell me something no one else knows about you.”

He takes a sip from his drink again, considering. Then: “no.”

“Why?”

Gray’s expression is unreadable. “‘Cause you’d never look at me the same again.”

“Did you kill someone?”

“No,” he snorts.

“Then you’re fine.”

“Tell me yours.”

“How’s that fair if _you_ don’t tell _me_ yours?”

“I’m banned from all _Targets_ in the state of Illinois. There you go.”

She rolls her eyes. _That's not even a good lie._ “Okay, well, here’s something no one else knows about me: sometimes the way I look makes me sick.”

It’s so easy to open up to him; it’s always been easy like this.

Gray outright scoffs at her. “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”

 _Sigh_ , she takes it back.

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re good looking. Why’d you feel that way?”

Her cheeks flame. “Because I don’t look a thing like my mother.”

“At all?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Don’t sweat it. I don’t look a thing like my mother either. I take after my dad’s side.”

Claire looks down at her pizza and is suddenly very _not_ hungry. It feels like high school all over again. “I think I do too.”

It takes him a second to realize what she means. “Oh, fuck, Claire.”

“Like… not a single person on my mom’s side was blonde. Not a single person, Gray. No one was pale, or had my eye colour, or my nose, no one.” She looks away, rubbing her knees. The room feels like it got colder. When the power comes back on, she is going to be the _first_ one in that shower. “I feel like I’m a spitting image of… whoever… And growing up, I loved the way I looked. Like, I’d tell my mom about all the people who came up to me and complimented my hair colour, and she’d just nod and smile… I didn’t even _consider_ -”

“Jesus Christ.”

“And then when I overheard those nuns talk about what happened to my her… like, I hate that I could be the duplicate of some sick rapist. Like, him and I are walking around with the same DNA, and he just shouldn’t be. It’s not fair. I wish I looked like my mom, so that every time I go to the mirror, I can get a glimpse of her again. But instead, I’m walking around, probably the spitting image of the wrong… parent.”

She feels herself getting emotional, and she just balls her fists up tightly, nails digging into her skin as she wills herself not to cry. Thinking about this isn't easy; that's why she seldom allows herself to. She breathes, focusing on the simple flame of the candle in front of her. The wax is beginning to soften significantly as it drips.

“What would I call you if you weren’t 'Blondie', though?”

Claire can’t help but give Gray a small smile. _At least he’s trying._ She rubs at her eyes. “What _would_ you call me?”

“Pain in the ass,” he decides with a smug grin. "No doubt."

She groans. “I think I like ‘Blondie’ better.”

He gazes at her, shaking his head. “You look like you ‘cause you look like you. That’s how… that’s just how it’s supposed to be, and you shouldn’t hate it. Believe me, most girls would kill to look like you… You’re beautiful, Claire.”

“Thank you.” Claire feels something tug at her heart. She pushes it away, but can still feel it growing inside of her.

She decides to ignore it as usual.

“Sometimes, I wanna change up my look, just so that I’m still me, but I don’t look like what everyone has always seen me as. Tyra Banks calls it ‘editing yourself.’ Like, maybe… I’ll get a nose piercing.”

Gray almost barks out a laugh. “A nose piercing?”

“Yeah… I dunno, I’ve always loved them. My mom had one. Like Christina Aguilera’s, but smaller, maybe.”

“You with a nose ring,” he muses.

“Maybe a stud,” she corrects.

“And what else?”

Claire fiddles with her long locks, bringing them over her shoulders. It runs way past her boobs now, almost farther than her bellybutton. “I think I wanna chop my hair.”

“You do?”

“It’s too long. Drives me nuts.” She thinks for a moment. “I could donate it.”

She doesn't know if she could actually go through this, though. Trent's always told her how much he adores her long hair, and that he'd be upset if she ever cut it.

_But, if it's for a nice foundation..._

“What do you mean?” Gray asks with a puzzled frown.

Claire tilts her head, running her fingers absently through her bangs. “They use hair donations to make wigs for people with cancer. As long as it’s never been dyed and there’s not too much damage to it, they can use it. Y’know, for the patients going through chemo who have…”

Gray nods. “I know.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Claire says with a wince. “I know you know.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, really. I didn’t-”

“It’s fine, Blondie.” He frowns again. “I know.”

“What was your mom’s cancer called again?”

“… It was glioblastoma. How come?”

“Well, if I donate it," she starts, carefully treading. "I can donate it to the glioblastoma foundation in her name. If you want."

Gray just stares at her. “But why?”

“Because you can specify which type of foundation you want to donate to, and you can do it in someone’s memory… so if you want, if I do end up doing it, I could do it for hers.”

“Yeah, but _why_?”

“If I’m going to, then wouldn’t I want to help a foundation close to your heart?” she asks him, frowning. "Besides, I don't have any specific one in mind."

Gray remains staring at her. “You’re too good for this world,” he mumbles. He taps his fingers on the table, like he's stalling, before saying, “My dad writes me a letter every couple of weeks. No one else knows that but you now.”

Claire is intrigued. “Really? What does he say?”

He looks away. “Probably not much.”

The silence between them now makes the wind blistering outside sound even more apparent than ever. Her frosted window reveals a million fluffy snowflakes, coming down hard and blocking any sliver of the full moon that’s supposed to be out tonight.

“What do you mean?” she asks, perplexed.

“I don’t open them.”

“What?”

“Fuck, I don’t open ‘em.”

Claire squints, still not understanding. “Why… you mean, he writes to you, and you don’t write back?”

“I don’t even fuckin’ open them, Blondie.”

“What?! Why not? My gosh, what if he’s trying to tell you something, Gray?”

He scowls. “Yeah? What the hell could he possibly have to say?”

She's suddenly so disappointed in him. This is cold, even by his standards. “You’re his _son_ -”

He gives her the side eye, shaking his head. “Here you go, all judgmental and shit.”

“I told you this at Rod’s funeral, but you’re lucky you even have a father, Gray.”

“I don’t. As far as I’m concerned, he’s fuckin’ dead to me.”

She feels exasperated. “He is _reaching_ out to you, and you-”

“Y’know, Claire, this is why no one on the fucking planet can tell you jack shit. Because you have to insert your goddamn preachy two cents wherever you go.”

 _Ouch_. “You’re mad at your dad, don’t take it out on me,” she snaps.

“You just act like everything’s such a big deal when it ain’t.”

“You not responding to your dad _is_ a big deal. Maybe it could help motivate him to staying clean.”

She watches him wince at the very word. “You didn’t find him OD’d, Blondie. I promise you, you’d _never_ understand.”

_Yikes._

_Maybe he is right about me._

“I didn’t know he OD’d,” Claire says, in a very small voice.

Gray nods, looking away from her again. The candlelight looms over his face, and he looks exhausted. She never realizes just how tired he usually is. “Doesn’t take much. You think he willingly checked himself into rehab on his own? Yeah, right. And he can’t seem to fuckin’ stay in it for the life of him, either.”

“But, maybe if you opened a letter, or responded to one, it would-”

“Look, drop it, alright?”

Claire just clamps her mouth shut.

He stares at her incredulously. “This is why I can’t tell you shit,” he says, tone indicating that he's got very little patience right now. “You say to be honest, and then you just sit there and judge in your own fucking glass house.”

She scowls at his comment. “Gray, why don’t you honestly go screw yourself. You’re projecting ‘cause you know deep down, you’re more judgmental than me. Anything I do, you freakin’ judge.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“My relationship.”

“Pfft, let’s not go there.”

“The way I live my life. You make it seem like you’re better than me for not going to church or-”

“No, that’s just you bein’ too sensitive.”

“Yeah, well, that’s you being a hypocrite.”

“You’re defensive right now ‘cause you know I’m not wrong.”

“No, you are wrong,” Claire snaps, getting up from her seat. She suddenly doesn’t want to be anywhere near this insensitive bastard. “And this is why people don’t _talk to_ _you.”_

Gray reaches for her wrist, staring at her as she stares back. His hands are freezing and rough, but her own face still feels hot. “You don’t know what it’s like to want the world to stop. You’re obsessed with living your life to the fullest and making the most out of everyday ‘cause you never got to do anything. You want to cling to every moment and-”

“And that’s a bad thing?” She scoffs at him, her gaze boring into his own. “You make it seem like I’m some-”

He releases her arm, but his grasp on her was so gentle in the first place, that it’s like his touch has never even left at all. “No, Claire, fuck. That’s the _best_ part about you. That’s the part everyone loves.”

“Everyone does not love me,” she mumbles.

“Believe me, they do.”

“Oh, really. Everyone, huh?”

“Yeah,” says Gray quietly. He looks despondent. “Everyone.”

Her cheeks burn and her heart skips a beat and _what is even happening here right now._

“You see the good in every single individual, even me, and I don’t fuckin’ understand how.”

“You are good,” Claire says quietly. “You’re a real jackass sometimes, but you’re not… why do you paint yourself out to be-”

“I’m all kinds of fucked up.”

“Don’t say that.”

Gray doesn’t meet her eye. “You don’t know half the shit, Blondie. You don’t have a goddamn clue.” He stands up, ready to end this conversation, but she walks out in front of him.

“Stop,” she says, feeling lightheaded. “Stop. Help me to understand then.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t what?”

“I can’t let you in like that,” he whispers. He’s right in front of her but he feels distant and far away. She’s never seen him like this, so crestfallen and freaking _sad_. It feels like she’s talking to the shell of him, and not actually him.

“Then tell me. Tell me what’s wrong in your life and why you’re here.”

“Here what, here on this earth? ‘Cause I don’t-”

“Here as in _here_. Living with me.”

“Blondie-”

“Gray, I’ve been with you this whole time. I’ve always been with you, there for you, and if you just let me in-”

For a split second, something flickers across his face, as if this is a real possibility, as if he’s seriously considering it, but he quickly shoots this idea down. “No, you wouldn’t be able to wrap your head around this shit.”

“Gray.”

“You don’t… Jesus, Claire, I’m not tryna be an asshole, but you really don’t know fuck all.”

She retreats back like she’s been slapped. “Oh, I don’t know eff all, huh?”

“You fuckin’ freaked when you accidentally got high off of goddamn _pot_ _brownie_.”

Claire narrows her eyes, piecing his words together. “Is this about drugs? Is… is that why you fought?”

And he’s mad at her all over again. “I wish you could fuckin’ hear yourself right now. You’re a goddamn prude. You always have been and you always will be.”

“You’re mad at other people, or yourself, actually, so don’t go taking this _shit_ out on me.”

He chuckles bitterly, but he speaks without a single trace of humour. “Maybe I am mad at you. ‘Cause you’re all perfect and untainted and I’m way past that.”

“Untainted?! What do you even… you know what? Enough, Gray. Just enough. You-”

“You’re ridiculous-”

“And you’re an arrogant-”

“I can’t fucking-”

“Loudmouthed sorry ba-”

His voice is loud and booming over her own, its vibration bleeding into her entire house. She almost feels the need to take a fearful step back from him. “My grandfather kicked me out ‘cause he thinks I’m killing myself slowly every day.” Gray stands across from her, unmoving. “You happy?”

The air is thick and unwelcoming around her, around the both of them. Her voice comes out, barely above a whisper. “What-?”

“He found blow in my room.”

“I-I don’t understand-”

“And a bottle of Jack Daniels I polished off by myself.”

“I-”

“Blow is coke, Claire. It’s fucking cocaine.”

She widens her eyes. “Well, what the hell was cocaine doing in your room?!”

“Yeah, here we go. You know, sometimes I don’t think you’re different than everyone else, I _know_ it. You’re your own fuckin’ breed of-”

“I am _asking_ you-”

“‘Cause I did it, alright? It was in my room ‘cause I fucking did it."

“… Recently?!”

“Evening of my birthday. You noticed my pupils were big, well, that’s why.”

She laughs bitterly. “And you lied to me.”

Her lights begin to dwindle, quivering on and off. The power returns, cutting out again. Returns-

Cutting out again.

“Oh well, Claire.”

“No, no not ‘oh well.’ Why would you... why would you _ever_ -”

“Relax, alright? ‘Cause it’s not that deep,” he snaps, and is he shaking right now? “You pried and pried and you found out what you wanted to know, so I hope you’re fuckin’ happy.”

He storms away from her but she darts after him, her voice pitchy and elevated.

“My God, it’s not just… Gray, it’s cocaine. It’s freaking… _cocaine,_ and you mixed it with booze. What if you-”

“Yeah, here we go.”

“You could have freakin’ overdosed like y-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” he mutters, a fiery glare burning into her. "Don't."

“How could you just do something so irresponsible?!” Claire shrieks, in hysterics. She feels like there’s a stranger right in front of her, a stranger in her house. She doesn’t even understand who he is anymore, or if he’s always been like this and it's just the greatest blindside of the year. She knew he did stupid shit in his past, but Lord, not that it carried on _into his present_.

“Why the hell do you care, huh? What does any of this matter to you? You think you can fix me with your fuckin’ biblical love and forgiveness bullshit?” he yells back. “Well, you can’t. You can’t do shit for me because I’m permanently fuckin' like this."

“Stop making this about me! You shouldn’t… God, you’re gonna kill yourself with drugs and drinking... like the fact that you overdo it, that you _abuse_ it, doesn't that make sense to you? Can’t you see that?!”

Gray's face hardens, callous like he’s been chiseled out of stone. “You don’t know what killing yourself is.”

“Yes, I do. Don’t pretend like you’re some cold-”

“I’m not pretending.”

“You-”

“You don’t know, Claire. You got no idea,” he mutters. “So fuckin’ stop, alright?”

“What are you so afraid of?!”

“Fuck _off_.”

“’Cause you’re not afraid to hurt other people - you thrive off being mean and that’s why you hide-”

“You need to fucking stop. Don’t go starting on that psychobabble bull-”

“And then what you’re really afraid of is hurting yourself-”

This is the thing that fully sets him off; his voice sounds like a strained wild animal, an earsplitting shout which leads her to believe that underneath it all, it’s not really Gray anymore. It's a stranger or a doppelgänger or _something,_ but it's not Gray. “I HURT MYSELF AND IT AFFECTED MY MOTHER IN THE PROCESS. THAT WHAT YOU WANNA KNOW? HOW ALL FUCKED UP I AM?”

He’s stolen the breath from her lungs. Her skin pales. “Gray-”

“Do you wanna know about the time I tried to make everything in my world stop? When I was eleven and I wanted to see what would happen to me if I did that? ‘Cause I’ve clearly been fucked like this my whole life?”

Her heart feels like it’s ceased beating; she doesn’t understand what any of this means. Her words are caught in her throat.

“Is that what you want?! You wanna know about the time when my mind was goin’ like fuckin’ clockwork, when nobody knew how to help me or how to see where I fucking ticked, when I was alone and I felt like a goddamn burden? The first time I suffered but still managed to get high off the fuckin' adrenaline of it all?”

She keeps her mouth closed, staring at him, tears welling up in her eyes.

"You wanna know about the time I was a dumb kid and I made sure my Epi Pen wasn't within reach? How I forced a whole pack of _Reese’s_ down my goddamn throat? How I _convinced_ myself that it was just ‘cause I wanted to try 'em and see what would happen, but deep down, I knew it was really ‘cause I just wanted it all to stop? Like, my head to just be fuckin’ put on a goddamn pause? How I could not have possibly _grasped_ the permanence in that situation? You wanna know what happened when I clearly didn’t die fast enough, when my mom found me struggling to breathe on the floor of my room? How she was sobbing and screaming, demanding to know what I did before running to go and grab her backup Epi Pen? What fuckin’ eleven-year-old kid thinks of their plan failing because of a goddamn backup technicality?!”

She’s at a loss for words; her knees buckle and her throat feels like it’s closing just hearing the suffering in his voice.

But she doesn't dare interrupt him; she physically can't.

“You wanna know how 911 came right on time, how my mom wouldn’t let go of my hand, how I can remember all this shit because I’m fucked up, wired different? How my lungs ached, but I can still remember the hug she gave me when I woke up in the ICU, ‘cause I felt her hands 'round my body like a blanket, like a goddamn ghost? You wanna know the first time I saw my dad cry?”

“Gray,” Claire sobs, the warmth of her tears evident in her eyes. They spill down her cheeks, hot and burning against her face. She gets closer to him, reaching for him, but she doesn’t even know what she's supposed to be doing next. She's numb right now; she can't even begin to imagine how he feels.

“And she passed it off like an accident, she never asked, but deep down, I could tell she thought there was more to it. She just never prodded. And I didn’t wanna fuckin’ die like… not be alive for the rest of ever, I just wanted the goddamn world to stop for a bit so I could see what happens when you get off. I wanted to sleep without any dreams and not have to worry about the light hitting my eyes when I woke up. That was just the easiest way for a kid like me to do it.”

He’s unmoving as though he’s caught in a trance, but tremoring like someone is manually shaking his body.

“What I did then, and what my dad does now, how the fuck's it any different? Sometimes I think I'm still seeking that adrenaline, something to feel every time I go out or fuck up my body more and more with whatever I get my hands on. You wanted to know something that no one else knows about me? There it is; she took that one to her grave. You really wanna know the worst thing I’ve ever done? It’s that. But not what I did to myself. What I did to her, ‘cause I fucking broke her heart that night, and she saved mine.”

“Gray,” Claire whispers, voice cracking. Her head is swimming and her heart is sore and she doesn’t even know where to begin. “I’m so sorry.”

Her lights come back on, power fully returning to brighten up the house, and she can see his face fully, all splotchy and red. His expression is something that she’s never seen before, not in her whole life.

Gray’s voice comes out hoarse like he’s not breathing. “You really wanted know about all that, Claire… well, there you fuckin’ go.”

He’s unbuttoning the top part of his plaid shirt, like he’s trying to get it off so that he can fucking breathe, and there’s a strangled noise that escapes his throat, but he turns away from her, storms into her bathroom, _slamming_ the door. She listens to the sound of the shower running over the hammering of her heart, until she hears something collapse.

Tears are blurring her vision as she runs over to the door, whipping it open in a panic with her own unsteady hands. She darts inside, only to find Gray slumped against the side of the tub as he struggles to unbutton his shirt with quivering fingers, as though it’s suffocating him like anaphylaxis. He’s trying to undo the last of his buttons, but he can’t, and there’s just bare parts of his stomach exposed while he’s out of breath, burying his head in his hands in defeat. Claire frantically kneels in front of him, calling his name, telling him to breathe, telling him it’s okay, he’s okay, it will all _be_ okay. She can’t say _stay calm_ because he never _was_ calm, and he can’t catch his breath, but when he looks up at her, her heart shatters because she realizes that his cheeks are streaked with tears.

“Gray.” She grabs his shoulders, puts her face in front of his desperately. “Look at me, please. I’m right here, okay? Please, please, I’m _begging you_.”

She wants to hold him because she never thought she’d ever see him cry or hear him sob like this, not in a million years, but he needs to find his space to breathe and she can't prevent that by getting too close, even if it’s killing her on the inside. She wipes her tears away with the back of her hand, swallowing, focusing on him, telling him that she’s sorry, that it’s okay, that everything is going to be just fine.

And for a very split second, Gray’s eyes dart up; they look like melting sheets of ice when they’re filled with tears like this. To her surprise, he grabs her.

Pulls her body closer to his.

Buries his face in her shoulder.

And sobs.

He’s hugging her so tightly, like he’s afraid that if he doesn’t do it firmly enough, she’ll float away or leave his side. But she promises that she isn’t going anywhere, that she’s here, that she always will be, and he catches his breath by sobbing into her hair, shaking his head as he weeps. The sound is heart-wrenching, and the feeling is even worse, but Claire just holds him, squeezing him back so that he knows it’s all going to be alright. She can’t even fathom what happened to him in his past; what his mind must be going through right now and every day that he’s alone with it.

The realization of everything that he said slowly begins to set in her mind. Everything he did... there aren't enough words in the English language that she can string together to effectively tell him how truly sorry she is, how much she cares for him, how frightened she is for his wellbeing. She needs to hear him say that he's okay... but feels as though those words exiting his mouth would just be a lie. Because he's not okay, neither of them are, and nothing about this whole thing is.

So she just holds him instead. And he merely clings to her in response. She thinks about throwing snowballs outside with him, how happy he looked just a few hours ago compared to now. Her tears begin to fall again as she tries to focus on that.

She doesn’t know how long they stay like this for. She doesn't know how long his bawling lasts, or how long she is stroking his back in an attempt to soothe him. The heat of his chest is so fervid against her own, but she hugs him, listens as he slowly regains his breathing and comes back down to earth. She's not scared for him; she's terrified. She needs him to be okay, so she tells him not to leave, not to do anything like that ever, ever again, and he just cries, holds her close, face hot against her skin. 

And there's a flash in her memory; a reminder of the time that he did this for her, when Trent stood her up on what should have been their first date. When Gray found her sobbing outside the Goddess Pond.

Just a few days after she asked him to kiss her.

_… Oh, God._

Here’s something to know about Claire: she’s mastered the art of blocking things out of her mind. This is her coping mechanism – she is _fully capable_ of switching her brain on and off to certain events. Traumatic car accident? Pretends like it never happened. Her mother’s death? She keeps her close to her heart, but the less that she thinks about it, the better.

That time in the coat check closet?

It’s _been_ in her mind, but she doesn’t allow herself to ponder over it. Not ever, because it happened, and they fought the next day, and it’s been over and done with – it meant absolutely nothing.

But if it meant nothing, why can’t it just casually stay in her brain? Why does she push it away every time she recalls her mouth on his and his body on hers? Why does she block it out, why does she have such a hard time acknowledging the effect that it had, or the fact that it even happened. Why does thinking about it make her knees weak and her heart skip – _oh, God, what is going on?!_

Why does she remember his tongue pressed against hers, the taste of his lips, the groan that exited his mouth – why is the intimacy of it all running through her mind _right now_ , at a time like this?!

She thinks about the way that he held her that evening she cried, how he told her she was beautiful, how all of the same is being replicated tonight. _Oh, God, oh no. No, no, no_. She is with _Trent_ , they are together and she is _happy._ She misses him, she hasn’t seen him in a few weeks and _Dear Lord_ , he would kill her if he saw her calming Gray down like this; he would kill her if he knew that her mind harboured those kinds of memories.

But, is this what she hasn’t been able to place?! Is this the feeling? Is this what happened inside of her when Gray brought up her scars, when Kai knocked on the window, when they were both outside in the snow? God, she’s downright selfish for thinking about her own head right now, but for once she’s at a loss for words – Gray is her friend, her very best friend. She is _lucky_ to have a best friend like him in a world like this, but she just doesn’t understand anything that’s going on, that’s _been_ going on. 

His crying has slowly ceased, and Claire’s heart is thumping as she breaks away from him for a moment, stumbled on her bathroom floor, the tiling frigid against her heated skin. The shower is still running, having produced a thick steam to the room, but its noise feels like a distant sound in her ears. Gray's red-rimmed eyes bore into hers, and she can hear his heart pounding, accompanied with the relentless beat of her own.

"Are you okay?" Claire asks softly, because she cannot bring herself to say anything else.

He eventually nods solemnly. It looks like this mere action has taken the last of his energy away.

“Gray,” she whispers. He’s staring at her, at her whole face, at every part of her: her eyes, her nose, her mouth–

And she pushes back away from him with quivering hands, stands up straight with unsteady knees, tries her best to relax her heart but it’s fucking pounding, pounding like it’s _been_ pounding in all the time that Gray has spent here in her home.

“I-I have to go,” Claire stammers, backing away.

“Blondie,” he says, but she won’t look at him. She’s freaking out and suddenly the room is too small for her, for the both of them.

Gray is her friend; he's always been her friend, and she loves him as her friend, and that's all there is to it. 

“I-I-I’ll leave y-you alone for a bit.”

So then why does she feel the need to run away?

And her heart is hammering and why is her heart hammering and why is her heart hammering and WHY IS HER HEART HAMMERING AND WHY–

Claire exits, shutting the door and trying to control her breathing. Maggie watches her intently from her bed. She listens, hears him moving in there, and for a split second, thinks that Gray is going to follow after her. She prays that he doesn't; regardless, she isn't going to be bringing anything up because she _won't_ and she _can't_. _AND THERE'S NOTHING TO EVEN BRING UP._ But she hears him step in the shower, pulling the curtains shut.

She quickly makes her way over to where her boots are at the front of the house, slips them on, grabs her jacket and runs outside, trekking through the snow that’s now as high as her knees. She needs this fresh air, because her head is throbbing and her whole house feels like it doesn't have the air capacity for her lungs anymore. Stomping over to her barn, she checks in on her sleeping animals, unsure of what exactly she’s trying to accomplish here. She stalls herself, shivering into her coat, until she diligently notes that the light in her bathroom has been turned off. Nervously, Claire makes her way back into her house without any plan in mind - just knowing that she has to make sure he's okay.

She walks in to him on her couch, completely passed out and exhausted, looking like he’s already found himself in an instantaneous deep sleep.

Her heart still races all the same.

* * *

“Oh!” Claire says, surprised. She clutches the left side of her chest, toes dug a little tighter into her fuzzy slippers. “You scared me.”

Gray looks up at her from his mug. His eyes hurt when he strains them to read the 4:00AM timing of the clock, but he's trying to appear nonchalant, as though nothing has happened between them at all. Even if that's the farthest thing from the truth. “Sorry.”

“S’okay,” she yawns, pulling out the chair across from him at her kitchen table. “What’re you… doing up?”

“I boiled water.”

She turns, staring at the kettle that’s still steaming on her stove. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“… Cool.”

He slides an empty mug her way, and she manages to catch it before it runs off the table. Gray's a heavy sleeper, but knows that she's a light one; he had really been banking on the fact that she would wake up alongside with him. They need to talk.

Claire slowly grabs the kettle off of its coaster, seating herself across from him and pouring the hot liquid into her cup. He’s already taken out a cinnamon vanilla teabag for her.

“Thank you,” she says softly, when he hands it over. The blizzard has completely stopped flailing outside, but it's cloudy out tonight - only the bulb atop her oven, and a few straggling candles provide them both with any form of light.

"See?" he says. "You can function within ten minutes of waking up."

She isn't able to manage a believable smile. "Whatever... I disagree."

“Wanna talk?”

Claire stares at him, unblinking, before nodding. “… Yeah. We can talk.”

He doesn’t know how to begin – where does one even start to unpack all of this? “You need to know that I’m not... on this earth right now, with a goal in mind to die. And I don't want you to go thinking... that you need to worry about me at all times, or that you can't leave me alone anymore. I'm... I'm fine. I'm not fuckin' suicidal.”

She nods, careful not to interrupt him. Just grips her tea with boney white knuckles, listening and shaking. Is it too cold, or is she just afraid?

“It’s not that I ever really _wanted_ to die,” says Gray, staring at the mug out in front of him. Its steam hits his face with thick vapour. “I told myself that a hundred times, and I mean it. I dunno what was goin' through my head as a kid… part of me wonders if I just wanted to see what'd happen, and the other part of me thinks I just didn’t wanna exist for a bit. Like, I wanted to sleep awhile but… but not die. I just felt like I needed a break from living; my head was always racing. I don't think I understood the seriousness... or the graveness in what I was doing. Does that make any sense?”

“I-I think so,” Claire murmurs.

“Sometimes bein' alive feels harder than to... not be alive. What with everything.” He shrugs. “And that’s it. I'm... I'm sorry you had to see me like that.”

"I think you had a panic attack, Gray."

He doesn't know how to respond to this.

"And I never expected to _ever_ see you cry," she quietly adds.

"Yeah, well, I think I was just channelling my inner you for a sec, there."

Claire doesn't laugh.

"I'm serious," he continues. "Don't go tellin' anybody, alright? You could seriously ruin my reputation."

She offers him a weak smile at this. "Yeah, yeah. You and your bad reputation." Her face returns all stoic. "Do you think that you're depressed?"

He can't help but give a bitter chuckle. "I don't know what the fuck that means."

"Me either, but... maybe we could get you to talk to someone?"

Gray stares at her, words firm. "I'm fine. And I really need you to not tell anyone about this, okay?"

"I... Okay."

She doesn't push it, even if deep down, she wants to. Her expression remains unreadable. He wants to know what she's thinking, especially after that moment in the bathroom.

"I'm serious, Blondie, it's fine. That was over eight years ago... I was a stupid kid, but I'm fine now. I haven't done shit since and I won't. I deal with it all in my own way. And you don’t get it, and I don’t think I do either, but I’m tryin' to.”

“You weren't a stupid kid. You just... you were feeling a lot of things. You still are," she whispers. "Please... tell me something."

“Right now?”

“Yeah, right now, right at this very second.”

“That no matter how much goddamn _Splenda_ I add, I still don't like no fuckin' tea.”

Claire smiles at him, a stray tear spilling down her cheek.

“Please don’t cry.”

“I’m so worried about you.”

“I told you, I’m fine now. I wouldn't... what happened was stupid, and it was a long time ago. I met Kai after it, we became friends, and shit got better kinda. So don't worry, you still go and live your life – I'll be okay. I always am."

"Some things are bigger than you, Gray."

"Not this. 'Cause I'm fine now."

"Okay, but 'fine' to you means not suicidal," she says wearily. Her voice is breaking. "'Fine' to me means beating the sadness."

He doesn’t bother explaining to her just how many parts there are of him that are still sad.

“Tell me something,” Claire says softly.

“I just did.”

“No, really. Tell me something that you feel.”

He reaches across the table and squeezes her hand. He's not sure if he's saying this for her sake or for his own. “I’m okay right now. I'm happy to be here with you... alive and all.”

Her voice breaks again, and she holds up her pinky. “You promise?”

He takes it, secures his own pinky around hers like she wants him to. “I promise.”

“I’m happy you’re alive, too.” She squeezes his hand back, relief flooding her words. "I'm... I'm sorry for everything I said."

"I'm sorry too, Blondie."

"No... I was the reason you had your panic attack. I'm so sorry."

He almost snorts. "Believe me, you weren't."

"But-"

"There's just a lot on my plate. Don't go thinkin' I'm gonna start using it as a crutch now, or that I have a pass when I'm bein' an asshole. You still get to tell me off if I deserve it."

"That's like 95% of the time."

He rolls his eyes. "And this is coming from a world-class pain in the ass."

"Right, right." The corner of her lip raises. "Cause you're any better."

His gaze stays locked on hers, refusing to break away. She looks a mess right now, bedheaded and tired, but _Jesus,_ is she beautiful. “Will you stay with me right now?”

Her face blooms red, but she still nods. “Okay. I think _M.A.S.H_ is on T.V. We could... watch it if you want. I’m not sleepy anymore.”

“Alright.”

"You wanna have a bowl of cereal with me? You know, the one you hijacked?"

He gives her a small smile. "Okay, Blondie."

And they sit on the couch, Maggie sleeping over Claire's outstretched legs, Gray leaning into her whenever something funny happens on the show. It's not a night full of humour that they're normally used to; it's obviously toned down and stagnant. But the bright screen illuminates their profiles all the same, and they clutch their cereal bowls carefully in hand to avoid spilling milk anywhere while laughing.

"I think if I were any of the characters, I'd be Hawkeye," she tells him. Her tone hasn't returned to its playful one, but it sounds like she's trying to find it, trying to get back to normal. Whatever that means. "We're both very charming, quick-witted, _funny._ "

"You _wish_ you were Hawkeye," says Gray with a chuckle. He's fine though - he can turn that shit on and off at any time. "I'm more Hawkeye than you. _I'm_ actually funny."

"You are not."

"You know who you'd be?"

"... Houlihan?"

"Radar."

 _"Radar?!"_ Claire scoffs, pushing him away from her with a soft laugh.

It feels like old, usual times, but different. There is something _different_ about it all.

And this is their last good moment together. Maybe for a while.

Maybe forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lordy, this was the hardest part to write. Reading it now, it makes me sad, but I think it was important to get through. It felt really difficult putting everything into words, and I just hope that the emotion was conveyed okay enough. I'd love to hear all of your feedback on it 🙂💕 
> 
> This one was sooo dialogue heavy. Lots to unpack about everything. I wanted it to feel as realistic as possible - I mean, I tried to insert descriptive sentences and paragraphs as much as I could, but I didn't want the flow to get disrupted too too much, y'know?
> 
> The part with the hair donation, I've been wanting to include that for awhile. I really tried to highlight how different these two are - how Claire's first initial thought is to do something nice in memory of someone Gray loves, not because she'll get attention for it or because she's a goody goody or whatever, but because she cares for him, and it would be nice for his mom's sake & kind of for his sake too in a way - even though it doesn't do anything for her in return. And Gray being unable to wrap his head around the fact that she even thinks about doing this, or why it even crosses her mind to do this... idk, I wanted to show their different dynamic and the ways that they live out their lives. One always hopeful and the other always cynical, I guess. Hopefully it didn't just sound like my usual **"HEHE TIME TO TRY 'N LOOK ON THA PAZATIVE SIDE OF LIFE AGAIN GRAY"** and he's just all like **" >:("** Yeah, didn't want it to translate like that bc ik I have a tendency for abusing this 😂
> 
> Again just to reiterate, I updated three chapters at once today, and this is the third one. You can find the other two already up :) Thanks again ya'll, I appreciate every single one of you for sticking around and reading a fic that's so very close to my heart 🧡


	37. The Fight (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR!! 🥳💕 This is part 1 of a 2 chapter update. Again, I wrote too much, had to divide it into separate parts haha. Similar to Chapter 29 "The Funeral," this will be told from present, to past, back to present, in order to get to the full picture. As a trigger warning, please note that these chapters will contain depictions of sexual assault and violence.

_“I think you were wrong,” he says, after Gray has said nothing. He puts his wine down with a loud clink, its sound vibrating against the tiled counter. He takes a step closer as Gray just continues drinking from his glass, the cognac eliciting a burning pain from the back of his throat. But he needs this drink, he missed drinking and he fucking requires it. Doug stands behind the bar, polishing an empty glass with worried eyes. The inn is bustling tonight; people are talking and laughing about. They all seem so far away though, their chatter a remote noise in the background’s distance._

_“I think she lied.”_

_The glass stops before it touches Gray’s lips. He waits, but the rage inside of him has already built itself up._

_It’s about to boil over._

_“Her pussy wasn’t that tight last night.”_

_And he extends out a skimpy piece of purple fabric, holding it right under Gray’s nose._

_Trent’s words make it feel as though all of the air has been forcibly removed from the room._

_His mind is swimming with thoughts, with doubts, with everything, but he isn’t even thinking coherently right now. Gray grabs the fabric from him, and it’s underwear. It’s fucking underwear… it’s her underwear? He clutches it in his hand, shaky fist balled up tightly._

_And he effectively delivers a sucker punch right to the edge of Trent’s jaw._

_A girl screams from far away, but it’s all the edge of a distant blur for him now. He keeps going._

_He can’t stop._

* * *

Claire had awoken to her head nestled on Gray’s shoulder, the stitched fabric of his t-shirt leaving an imprinted mark on her face. She got up at snail speed, before slowly shifting her gaze to him, the realization of it all causing her to frantically throw herself back from his body. She stared at Maggie snoozing in his lap, at the worn-out look around his eyes, at how peaceful he seemed just sleeping like this. His skin had been rubbed raw and reddened from all of the crying, his hat a distant, thrown-away memory.

She had to turn herself away from him.

Here was her friend, who opened up about the time that he tried dying, who sobbed so vulnerably into her skin, who—despite blocking it from her memory—had kissed her more than half a year ago. Her friend who hated most of the things that she loved, who always fought tooth and nail with her, who had no desire to ever be serious about anything in his life, who didn’t possess the words “settle down” in his sworn vernacular… and... who she might actually—

A knock erupted from the front door. It made her heart literally stop beating for a second.

_Oh, God._

She shot up from the couch in a frenzy, and her own forgotten, empty cereal bowl next to her came crashing down as well. It cracked into six large pieces, scattering around her floor.

Gray stayed unperturbed though, while Maggie peeked one eye open, yawning. Claire just anxiously ran to her bathroom, toothbrush clutched in her tremoring hands, trying to squeeze a line of toothpaste out onto the bristles carefully.

It got everywhere. She was shaking so bad—why was she shaking?!

The knocking proceeded, to which Maggie got up and darted to the front door, barking.

_Oh, God._

Claire ran her toothbrush through her teeth, avoiding her face in the mirror. She didn’t want to look at herself right now—she felt sick. The knocking continued as she spit into her sink, tossing her toothbrush into its cup. She missed though; it clattered onto her counter, but she just quickly darted to her front door, self-consciously throwing a sweater from her dresser on. She avoided stepping on the broken pieces of her cereal bowl, picking them up and tossing them into her garbage can. She did all of this in a record timing of thirty seconds flat, nervously running to open her door while completely out of breath.

Trent swooped her up in his arms immediately upon answering, kissing her like mad.

“My Claire,” he sang, pulling back to stare at her so lovingly. His body was so cold against her own, hands more freezing than usual. “It felt like too long. Felt like forever.”

Immediate tears sprang to her eyes. She felt awful—worse than awful. How could she _ever_ think any of those things last night? How could she just let her memories take over and get so ahead of herself like that?

She’d never act on anything, but she still felt like a horrible person nonetheless.

“Hi,” Claire whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck. Trent reached up and felt the tears from her cheeks collide against his own skin.

Bringing his face away from hers, he gazed at her doubtfully, before softening his brows. “What’s wrong, love?”

Her lower lip trembled. She felt like such a baby, a childish idiot. “I missed you. I… I just needed you back here. With me.”

Trent smiled, before his gaze lingered over to Gray still passed out on her couch. He hadn’t so much as stirred from all of the noise that she made trying to get ready. Maggie began snarling up at Trent, before scampering over to her KO’d roommate, snuggling next to him.

Claire just swallowed thickly. It felt like she had cotton balls stuffed in her throat.

“Is he going to wake up?” Trent asked her, expression unreadable.

She didn’t dare look in Gray’s direction. “No, um, from what I’ve gathered, he’s a really heavy sleeper.”

“From what you’ve gathered.”

Claire froze, internally praying that Trent hadn’t seen her resting on his shoulder before. She didn’t even realize that the two of them had passed out like this—they were just both so emotionally drained.

“Yes,” she responded in a small voice.

Trent simply nodded though, gesturing toward her boots. “Let’s go outside. I need a moment of you to myself.”

Her face got hot. She missed this man more than the world, and she cared about him with all of her heart. She’d never been in love before, not ever, but told herself that it matched all of the characteristics to how she felt about him. She didn’t want to think any of those things last night; she didn’t mean for her memories to corrupt the vision of the bigger picture that was missing in front of her.

She told herself that she couldn’t help what got in her mind that time; she believed it.

Claire slipped on her boots as Trent—ever the gentleman—helped to put her coat on. As they readied to leave, the sound of Gray moving around behind her, signifying his waking up, made her pick up the pace. She quickly walked with Trent outside, making her way to the direction of her barn with him. Listening intently to each of his words, she expected the worst—why was she expecting the worst?

“Do you understand how hard that was for me?” Trent asked her, leading her behind the side of her stable. The spot was completely out of sight from the front of her house. “Being away from you for that long… Claire, I don’t ever want to be away from you like that again. It felt like something was missing.”

It was as though her soul had been lifted though. That was just it: _something missing_. “I felt the same way, Trent,” she breathed, grateful for his words.

“I need you in my life, Claire,” he murmured, grabbing her hands. He stared down at them, then back at her. “Now, and every day, and forever.”

Her heart skipped a beat, fingers getting all clammy and warm around his own.

“You are the woman for me, and you’re all mine. I need you always, Claire… I love you. I couldn’t wait another moment to tell you that, but I really do love you so.”

And he kissed her so deeply, so passionately, with her mouth cold and her whole body numb. Claire was freezing from the below-zero temperatures outside; she told herself that she needed this for warmth, she succumbed to him. Trent brought her even closer to him, his kisses developing further and his tongue sliding desperately against her own, to the point where their teeth almost collided. His mouth was fervid, insistent, and it made something work itself up inside of her, too.

She just pushed the feeling away though, tried her very best to ignore it, but it was building nonetheless.

Claire heard the front door to her house open, listened as her roommate paused, before trekking his feet through the heavy snow. Whether he was looking for her or not, he made his way toward the exit of the path to her farm. She knew he couldn’t see them from where he was, and she didn’t dare look.

But being kissed like this, Gray was out of her mind in a flash.

With her boyfriend’s insistent mouth on hers, Claire realized that as much as she needed to feel loved, Trent needed to feel wanted by her all the same. She got high on her tippy-toes and melted into his lips, kissing him with the same yearning that he provided, eventually managing to catch herself up to his fast-paced, desired rhythm.

And as if this had awoken something within him, he quickly grabbed her backside, bringing himself against her body frenziedly. The only thing between them was their clothes; he kissed her and desperately ground his hips against her own. Claire made an audible gasp, the feeling no longer ignored as she found herself letting out a loud and accidental moan against his mouth.

Her eyes widened immediately. She broke their kiss, breathing heavily—her head was spinning and her body was unsteady. She looked down, until Trent grabbed her chin with his hand, tilting it upward. His dark irises were glazed over with desire.

“I love you,” he said to her.

“I love you, too,” she repeated, in a shaky voice.

“Show me your love tonight.” He gave her hand a gentle-yet-innocent squeeze, and she nearly began tearing up right then and there. “Stay the night with me.”

Claire was afraid—terrified.

But she told herself that love was supposed to make people feel this way—make _her_ feel this way.

Love would change everything that she thought she knew, that she thought she wanted in her life.

Love scared her; she had to prepare herself for it.

Trent smoothed down the wrinkles of his button-down shirt that their make-out session just caused. “I’ll leave you to do your own thing, but do you mind if I take the time to freshen up in your bathroom?”

Claire could only nod. Words weren’t coming easy to her at the moment.

* * *

“Whatcha doin?” asked Elli, tilting her head all puzzled.

“Shopping,” Gray mumbled. He lifted up a package of _Instant Ramen_ , immediately placing it back down. If he was going to cook for Claire tomorrow night, it would be something that actually took more than half a brain cell to curate.

“ _You’re_ grocery shopping?”

“No, no. You just caught me tryna jerk it in the middle of the aisle here.”

Elli rolled her eyes as Gray leaned against the shelf, lifting up a packet of dried wild rice. How was he supposed to add the vegetables to this? Did they come dried as well, or did he have to find some fresh? Or, maybe even frozen? Fuck, he hoped that there was an instruction manual on the back of this shit. Gray wished that he had paid closer attention to the cooking wisdom of Kai’s parents whenever he went over to their restaurant after school.

“Didn’t expect to see _you_ ever doing any kind of grocery shopping,” Elli mused, adjusting her shopping bag.

“Agreed, Elz. It’s pretty insane,” Ann chimed in, seemingly out of nowhere. Her arms were full of canned ingredients; she was too stubborn to admit that she needed a shopping cart to carry all of her crap. Fumbling to maintain a steady grip on everything, she turned to Gray. “You look like death.”

What a thing to say.

“I’m cooking for tomorrow night,” is all that he answered her with. The supermarket was packed with customers, and the door kept chiming to signify just how many people were coming or going. He didn’t scan the store at all, but he figured that his grandfather wasn’t anywhere in sight.

The girls didn’t bother hiding their surprise. “You are?” they asked in unison.

“Jinx, touch your nose,” Elli said to Ann with a laugh. Gray couldn’t help but wonder what had got her in such a better mood as of lately, but it was nice to see her happy.

“Can’t,” said Ann, nearly dropping her can of chickpeas. “Hands full.”

“Ha. I gotta run, I’m expecting a phone call, but I’ll catch you guys later.” Elli gave a five-finger wave to the both of them, taking her paid groceries and darting out of the store.

“I owe Claire a lot,” Gray finally said. _My life, actually._ He seized a can of carrots from the crook of Ann’s arm before it came crashing down to the floor.

“You don’t cook,” she pointed out, grabbing it back from him.

“I was gonna figure out a way to discreetly ask her for help when she gets back tonight.” It was for their Christmas that they were meant to celebrate together. The way that he saw it, he could go to Claire with generic questions on how to get dinner started, and then surprise her with it the following evening.

Or, he’d just have Ann walk him through things if he couldn’t manage to figure it out.

She frowned. “‘Gets back tonight?’ I thought she was sleeping there.”

Gray just blinked. He knew Claire was going over that shit head’s house later, but… she’d obviously be coming home, right? She wouldn’t… he had even told himself that he’d go get her, given that the prick would likely make her walk back alone. “Why the hell would she do that?” he asked, with a furrow of his brows.

Ann stared, her mouth a thin, tight line. She looked at him like he was the biggest idiot on the planet, like everyone else except for him possessed all of the key knowledge in this world. “Gray… you’re a guy, and you have a penis. Why don’t you try thinking with your other head so that you can answer your own question.” Her tone was flat, like she didn’t want to be his bearer of bad news.

Gray scowled as he walked away from her, passing the remaining aisles to get to Jeff at the front checkout. Ann was dumb as hell; she clearly knew nothing. Claire wouldn’t be so naïve to… she had to know what spending the night with her boyfriend would obviously entail, right? She wouldn’t just change her whole prerogative like that, wouldn’t feel obligated to succumb to Trent and break her promise for some stupid fucking festival—

“Personally, if me and Rick are using ‘em, I prefer ribbed. If I’m being honest.”

“Uh—”

“But, I dunno if those would hurt for your first time, kid. ‘Cause…”

Karen froze next to Claire when she saw him come to a steady stop at the entrance of the family planning aisle that they were both standing in. She had been absently restocking the store’s shelves with _Durex Play_ lubricant, but found herself ceasing this action immediately.

And Claire, nervously clutching a package of _Trojans_ in her hands, tossed the box to the back of the shelf upon seeing Gray’s figure in their aisle. Her face burned; she didn’t meet his eyes, and instead, fixed her gaze on the floor out in front of them.

Ann was right.

_Jesus._

“You better check that they carry extra-small condoms if you gotta be the one who buys them,” he muttered to her. Karen had her mouth fall open at this.

Claire’s cheeks turned even redder as her eyes shot ablaze. “Don’t do this,” she choked out.

To avoid hearing Karen call him a fucking thief, Gray set the rice down on the same shelf next to her before storming out. “Take your own advice,” he snapped, turning to leave.

* * *

Trent reached into Claire’s drawer, rifling through it. He was trying to be quick, but he’d been combing through her things since she had left to go to the store. He didn’t know when she’d be back, and he was trying his best to hurry. He dug and dug, searching, but not knowing what exactly he was searching for.

He could just take any plain cotton panty, but he had remembered something from the summertime, when that loud supermarket girl let it slip that she bought a kind of undergarment for Claire’s birthday. And when he questioned Claire about it, she sheepishly laughed, said that it should be, and was supposed to be, a kind of secretive gift. But, due to Karen’s accidental big mouth, it was apparently a secret that many people knew about.

She never let him see it, even when he asked.

Did that blacksmith get to, though?

He rummaged through the different fabrics heatedly; Claire didn’t possess a single sexy piece of underwear at all—what was wrong with her? Was she lying, was everything all just heavily exaggerated?

His hands ran through everything, until he hit the bottom of the wood, felt something silky in the back corner, like it was being hidden. He pulled out a skimpy piece of underwear, held it between his fingers, drawing in a sharp breath. It was silky and purple, the way Claire minimally described it to him when he pressed her for details on what Karen had meant. It wasn’t full of lace, hadn’t any criss-crossed designs or racy cut-outs… it was just a simple, tiny thong.

He imagined it against Claire’s pretty skin, her hips modelling it just for him, thought about what it would be like to impatiently move it over to the side.

Is that what the blacksmith did? Did he pull the fabric down her legs, or was he too impatient—did he just move it over to the side when it was time to fuck her?

The way he'd found the two of them that morning… fury didn’t even begin to describe what he was feeling. He could make out Claire’s figure resting against Gray’s shoulder through the frosted glass of her frozen window, and it took every bit of him to control his temper, to not slap her across the face. He was almost glad that she had taken so long to answer her door; it gave him time to calm down. He just focused on kissing her, and managed like he always did. He told himself that maybe the virginal fantasy he had created in his head just wasn’t possible; maybe he’d never actually have his way with one.

But no, tonight, it would be fine. He would check, he’d determine how many lies she had been feeding him, if there were ever any lies to begin with. And they’d go from there.

Regardless of what Claire wanted, he would be getting what _he_ wanted, and that was all that mattered.

Her mutt hadn’t quit its snarling since the moment that he stepped in, and he was about ready to kick it until he heard her front door creak open. He immediately shut her drawer, stuffed the minuscule underwear into his back pocket, and pretended to inspect his poreless face in the mirror above Claire’s dresser. He tried thinking of a long-winded explanation to give to her on why he was still in her home, but was met with that punk instead.

“The hell are you doing here?” snapped Gray.

He smiled. No matter how hard Gray tried, Claire would never be his. And that made him happy. “I could ask you the same question. I was simply using the restroom—”

Gray got up in his face, light eyes flashing. Trent smugly thought about the elaborateness of his whole plan, and quickly realized that this fucker wouldn’t stand a chance. Maybe he would get himself caught in the crossfire of it all, but he told himself that he could handle it—after all, he was a sadomasochist of sorts. He’d put himself through a whole three rhinoplasties just to look exactly this way.

“You’re one sick shit, you know that, eh? You better not… I swear to fuck, you better not touch her tonight.”

Trent blinked, unfazed. He directed his attention admiringly back to the mirror—he really was glad that he did everything to look like this now. “And what if I do, hm? What’ll you do then?”

Claire stepped in, her lungs winded and her face burning red. “Gray, please wait—”

And just as she did this, Gray angrily grabbed his collar, as though he didn’t hear her, forcing Trent to face him. His smugness was clearly irritating him, and he couldn’t help but inwardly laugh.

“I’ll fucking break your face, I swear to—”

Claire made a small, strangled noise, running over to the two of them in horror. “What the hell?!”

Trent shook his head, swatting Gray’s hand away. He had to do it hard, though, because his grip was so tight on his shirt, that it almost scared him. No matter; it would be something to deal with tomorrow. “Sorry, love. I finished up in your bathroom, and was immediately met with hostility.”

“Hostility,” Gray snorted, stepping closer to him again. “You’re a fucking cocksucking little cu—”

Claire had to get herself in between them, trying her best to push Gray away. She narrowed her eyes at him, and decidedly, he was the one that she was mad at. Trent nearly beamed.

“Enough,” she snapped at him.

Everything was going better than he had expected. He managed to contain a smile.

“I’ll be getting ready for tonight, love,” he told Claire, leaning in to kiss her cheek. She hardly reacted, though—she looked furious. “I’ll see you then. Or, would you feel safer coming with me right now?”

But it was like his words didn’t even register in her brain. As Trent let himself out, he listened to the sound of the two of them screaming at each other. Reaching into his back pocket, he thumbed her underwear, the feeling of it paralleling how good he could only imagine tonight would be.

He made his way over to the old blacksmith’s shop, readying a long-awaited pickup that had been previously ordered.

* * *

“You’re gonna fuck that.” Gray couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh. “You’re gonna let _him,_ fuck _you_.”

Claire was so angry with him that she wasn’t even able to see straight. She couldn’t believe how vulgar he was being. “You need to stop it, Gray, alright? E-NOUGH. You don’t get to come into my home, threaten the man that I love… and you sure as hell don’t get to _tell me_ —”

“He’s a fucking _creep_ , Blondie. He… Jesus Christ, that’s all he wants you for! He’s gonna fuck you, and then he’s gonna leave you once you give it up.”

“Why would he just leave me like that? We’ve been together since the summer, what kind of sense does that make?!” She scowled at him, throwing her hands to her side in disbelief. “You’re a real idiot sometimes, Gray.”

How could she ever, in her whole life… God, he’s _such_ a piece of shit—how could even the smallest part of her remotely consider—?!

Gray scoffed. “I told you this shit before, he wants young pussy. That’s it.”

“You’re disgusting,” Claire snapped, storming away from him into her kitchen. 

“It’s true,” he said, following her. “And the guy’s fuckin’ horrible to you.”

“He loves me.” She slammed her cupboards shut loudly, in attempt to try and drown him out. “He’s my boyfriend and we’re in love.”

“You think he loves you? You honestly believe that?”

“According to you last night, apparently everyone does,” Claire muttered coldly.

His cheeks got red, but he stood his ground. “Yeah, yeah, I said a lot of shit last night. But he doesn’t, alright? You’re like a little trophy that he’s just using—”

“I’m not getting used!! And I’m not even… like, planning on sleeping with him.”

She wondered if the uncertainty was masked in her voice. She also wasn’t sure what was going to happen this evening, but knowing her luck, of course Gray had caught her in the supermarket at the wrong freaking time.

He stared at her dubiously. The exhaustion was plain to see in his eyes, but he just kept going. “You really believe that. You think you got a say with him tonight?”

Claire felt exhausted, too; she couldn’t keep doing this anymore with him. Leaning against her counter, she tried to calm herself down by counting to ten, her lungs inhaling a deep breath. She thought about how broken Gray was last night. Although he said that what happened wasn’t to be used as his crutch, and that she was still supposed to tell him off when he was being an asshole, she really didn’t want to.

“Gray, I am not here to fight with you. Please, I don’t want that. I heard what you said to Trent, and honestly, enough is enough. I’m _begging_ you to stop.” She hugged her arms around her body and raised her chin, eyes pleading with him to be reasonable. “Aren’t you tired? Aren’t you tired of fighting with me?”

Gray stared at her, still as callous and as hard as ever. He made no motion to accepting her extended olive branch. “I could go all fuckin’ day, baby.”

She shook her head incredulously; he truly was _impossible._ “I don’t wanna fight with you, please. You’re doing this for no reason.”

“No, it ain’t for no reason. What about that stupid promise you made to your goddamn church?”

Her mouth fell agape. Dear Lord, _impossible_ didn’t even begin to cover it. He was truly _u-n-b-e-l-i-e-v-a-b-l-e._ Claire found herself losing her temper all over again. “Oh, my gosh—I do _not_ have to run my shit by you! Who do you think you are?! You’re not the boss of me and I can make my own decisions for myself!”

Gray's eyes were hooded and icy, words firm in the thick air between them. “You can’t spend the night there.”

“I can do whatever I want.”

“You spend the night there, you’re fucking him… Y’know, if he can even get it up.”

His vulgarity made her sear; she started growing even more furious with him. “So you do wanna fight, huh? That’s all you know how to do.”

They began shouting over each other’s voices to try and drown out any kind of sense that they were both attempting to make.

“He is gonna fuck you and he is gonna leave you, Blondie.”

“You’re like a damn broken record. You don’t know Trent, and I don’t have to hear this from you.”

“That’s all he wants.”

“Actually, I don’t have to take _any_ of this from you either.”

It was their usual yelling match, the severity in their screams hovering over each other, preventing one another from speaking or listening.

Claire didn’t know what was going to happen tonight. She knew it might be nothing, but the likelihood of it being something caused a swarm of unsteady butterflies in her stomach. And it felt like she couldn’t change the course of action at all; she’d been preventing things from happening this whole time. It was draining, and it made her feel like she just had to give in. She wanted Trent, maybe not like that, but she couldn’t just let this be the reason why she lost him.

She didn’t know what was going to go down, but she sure as hell didn’t have to answer to _Gray_ of all people— _it wasn’t his fucking business._ “I haven’t even made up my mind, so why do you care?”

“Your friends are too afraid to tell you how they really feel, but I’m not. I’m tryna look out for you.”

Claire snorted. “Oh, you’re looking out for me.”

“You don’t wanna hear the truth about him—”

“You’re trying to feed me total B.S. And you don’t even know the first thing about love, or being in a relationship, or—”

He watched her disbelievingly. “But you do?”

“… You’re such a jerk,” is the only response that she could come up with. She was beyond pissed. “How would you know what he’s gonna do?”

“‘Cause that’s the shit I would do, Claire,” Gray snapped, and it immediately made her words come to a halt. She stopped trying to talk over him as she stared. “I fucked, then I left. I went with girls, I slept with them, and I never called them or talked to them again ‘cause I got what I wanted and that was that, alright?”

She laughed bitterly. _Unbelievable_. “Thought you were a nice guy.”

“I’m bein’ realistic here.”

“Just shut up. It’s funny how it’s okay for _you_ to sleep around, for you to do whatever the hell you want, for you to destroy your life, and I don’t say shit—”

“Oh, you don’t say shit, eh?”

“—But then you try and tell me how to handle _my_ own life. Like, that’s hilarious to me. This is something private regarding _my relationship_ that you have _no business_ being a part of, yet you go and stick your nose where it _does not belong_.”

“Hope you have a wild ride tonight while he’s fucking you,” said Gray, his voice bitter and mean.

“And another thing,” Claire snapped, putting her finger in his face. “I’m not… I’m not effing him, so stop saying that, ‘cause your language is nauseating. And even if… we do do anything, which I’m not saying we will, I wouldn’t… do it like that.” She felt so inexperienced and stupid stumbling over her words like this; she questioned if she was even prepared for anything that Trent had entailed tonight. But she was fine, she was ready… for anything, and she needed to set the record straight with this jerkoff in front of her. “Not that it’s any of your business like I said, but it would be… lovemaking, or whatever, so—”

Gray outright laughed at her, the bastard. He pushed her hand out of the way, leaving her face flushed.

“I… that’s fucking funny, Blondie.”

Her cheeks grew redder by the second. Any kind of… care, or anything that she had ever felt for him, _anything_ at all, was gone in an instant. Scratch _unbelievable;_ the only word to describe him was none other than _asshole_. “Shut up, Gray. Just because you don’t know how to be kind, or gentle, or loving in the slightest—”

“But a guy like that does?” Gray ran his fingers through his auburn hair in disbelief. “Fuck, at least I admit I’m not. You think you got a say in _anything_ with a sorry-cunt like that?”

Claire let out a sharp breath. “Y’know what? Screw you.” She stormed out of the room, before the guilt began eating her insides away. Despite not wanting to, she came right back to him as he was gathering his jacket in his hands. “Are you gonna be okay on your own tonight—yes or no? I need you to tell me.”

Gray rolled his eyes back at her as he fixed the sleeve of his jacket. “Mhm,” he said sarcastically.

Claire shook her head, forcing herself to walk away from him yet again. “Why do I even freaking bother? Just get lost and leave me alone.”

“Don’t worry,” she heard him say, as he zipped up his coat. “You’re not gonna come home tomorrow to find my brains splattered all over your precious walls, if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

His words hung heavily in the air.

It was like a switch inside of her got turned on. She had left the room, but quickly darted right back in after he said this, her lower lip quivering and her vision searing.

“Why would you say that?” Claire whimpered. The way her voice cracked and the desperation in it bothered her, but she had never been so angry. Not ever; she felt consumed by it. Is this how Gray lived his life? “Why would you ever say that?”

He shrugged into his jacket, avoiding her gaze and looking like he regretted his words.

“WHY WOULD YOU EVER SAY THAT?!”

“Relax,” he muttered, still looking away.

Claire got out in front of him, right in his face. She was so small, minuscule compared to him, but _damn it,_ she was livid. Beyond freaking livid. Her hands were shaking and her vision was spinning; she couldn’t even stop the tears that had instantly formed in her eyes. They forced themselves to fall as she lost control of herself.

“You think I don’t care about you? Like I don’t give a shit, like I don’t worry like crazy?! After everything we’ve been through together, after everything I’ve _ever_ done for you, you don’t—?”

“You need to relax, it was a joke.”

“It’s not a joke,” Claire sobbed. She felt the need to lean on something, she was so dizzy with tears. She rubbed her face with her hands, letting them remain there. Her speech got all muffled. “You shouldn’t, why would you ever—”

“You’ll be fine.”

She’d be fine? This was never about her. Her voice cracked and broke in all sorts of places. “You’re not allowed to say things like that.”

“Get over it,” muttered Gray.

She dropped her hands so that she could fully scream at him again, tears blurring her vision. She couldn’t find it in her to tell herself to wipe them. Every part of her was so gutted, she couldn’t even think straight. She had never been more out of control, more hysterical in her life. “How _dare_ you, Gray. After EVERYTHING—”

Claire had to stop herself from speaking because it was all just becoming an incoherent, blubbering mess. She felt so overwhelmed with every single thing going on in her life; hearing this was the fucking cherry on top. She needed to empty out her feelings, to crawl up into a little ball and sob.

She screwed her eyes shut tightly to try and stop her tears from flowing so rapidly, but it didn’t help in masking them at all. She couldn’t bring herself to walk over to her bathroom and wash her face—she was too dizzy with anger. And she couldn’t drop to the floor because she figured that she wouldn’t be able to find the energy to get herself back up from it. That’s what it was—this, all of this with him, it just shattered the energy right out of her.

Claire turned herself away from him, fingers prying at her eyelids to wipe the sadness off, but it felt so hard. Everything was so hard. She simply fell back on her couch behind her, pretending that Gray wasn’t there as she let her tears consume her. She was an emotional person, sure, but right now… it all felt heightened. She felt like her feelings were cranked at a _100._

Despite the sounds of her weeping, she still heard his tentative footsteps eventually echoing their way into her ears. And although her eyes were still closed, she felt Gray’s presence as he sat himself beside her. She wanted him as far away as possible. She wasn’t _just_ mad at him; she couldn’t even quite place what was going on inside of her at that moment.

“Blondie,” Gray said quietly. “Listen.”

She could hardly hear him over the racking of her sobs—his voice was like a distant memory in the back of her mind.

It was so difficult to be with him.

“Just leave me alone,” she pleaded.

Claire felt the ghost of Gray’s arm about to wrap itself around her, before her words made him immediately retreat it back. She brought her hands in front of her face again, feeling zero need to fling herself onto his shirt and cry. She had held him as she wept so many times before, but she thought about all of his horrible words, everything terrible he had said to her, and didn’t want him near her at all.

He continued, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t…”

Mean to get her upset? As if saying something along that nature could make her anything but.

“You didn’t what?” Claire stifled another sob as she rubbed at her eyes again. The expression on Gray's face was full of regret. “You… you make it so hard sometimes.”

“I know I do,” he agreed weakly. His hand tentatively found its way onto her leg, a little bit above her knee, over her clothed thigh.

She froze, lifted her chin to stare at him as he stared right back at her.

His touch was ice and she was the fire. It overwhelmed her; made her want to cry even harder.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

The tears were causing her to crumble—how long could they keep doing this for?

“Sometimes you make my heart freaking _hurt_. I wish you weren’t like this,” she sobbed. “Sometimes I really hate you.”

His hand… she couldn’t explain it, but its presence felt different on her leg with this statement that she uttered. She didn’t know if it was true or not, but it was what she was feeling.

“Well, I don’t hate you,” is all that Gray responded with.

Claire still felt his touch, heavy on her leg. She wondered what he wanted.

Wondered what she even wanted anymore.

She told herself that she didn’t care, and said nothing back to him in response. Instead, she just attempted to try and calm down her relentless crying that continued.

It hardly worked.

She just wanted him away from her.

And it was like he read her mind. “I can go if you want me to, Claire.”

“Yes,” she finally managed to say. Her voice still wavered, and she just needed to get away from him. He immediately dropped his hand as she turned her body, in vain attempt at composing herself, but the tears were still all too real. “I need to be left alone right now.”

She listened as he slowly walked away from her, slipped on his shoes, and was out her front door in ten seconds flat.

Claire lifted her face to her mirror, and for the first time in her whole life, saw someone she didn’t recognize.

Maybe the way that she was changing was inevitable.

For the best.

* * *

“No, no,” Elli said harshly, into the phone. She gripped an immaculately white paper in her hands. The way she squeezed it made it crinkle and ruin, but it was wrong anyway. They’d have to send her another one, a correct one this time, regardless. “You don’t understand. There must be some mistake.”

“There is no mistake.” Doctor Jin’s voice was levelled over the other end of the phone. He always had such cold bedside manner, and right now was no exception.

“I’m _telling_ you that there’s an error.”

“There is not any error, ma’am.”

“You don’t understand,” Elli explained desperately. She tried to keep her voice above a whisper to avoid Trent hearing her, but she was finding herself manic and distraught. The floor felt as though it could just collapse beneath her at any given moment. “You _need_ to run the DNA again, I don’t care.”

“We ran it six times, Miss Eleanor. I am sorry, but the DNA’s that you provided were not a match.”

“That’s impossible,” she whispered, cradling the phone’s receiver into her hands. She immediately thought about all of the coaxing that she did just to get Stu to let her take his blood; he had put up such a fight.

And it was all for nothing.

“That’s impossible,” Elli repeated. Her body felt like it didn’t belong to her anymore.

And maybe that was because it didn’t.

“I… I am sorry, ma’am. If there is anything—”

Elli slammed the phone into its base, the sound ricocheting off the wall. She slowly fell to her knees, slid her body down, burying her head in her hands as she hyperventilated.

She was wrong.

She was never wrong, not now, not ever.

But she was. She was fucking wrong. Trent… it wasn’t him. He wasn’t that forgotten ghost back in Dallas.

How could he have felt so familiar though, like a twisted memory that she'd lived through before, and still not be the match to Stu’s DNA?

She was just a stupid whore, simple as that. She would never be able to tell her son who his father was, never be able to give him the truth, never be able to get herself out of this mess.

“Elli!” she heard Trent yell, over her panicked breathing. “Get over here now.”

She was trapped.

More alone than she’d ever been in her whole, entire life. She had nothing; she was going to be stuck like this, stuck like a stupid, abused little slut. All that she was good for.

All that she was.

Her footsteps had a mind of their own; Trent kept calling, and she had no choice but to make her way to the sound of his voice, to let him do what he wanted before she had to go home to her little family.

_No choice._

And as he climbed on top of her, shoved his way inside of her, Elli couldn’t help but ask herself: _what the fuck am I going to do now?_

* * *

Claire was shaking so badly when she hopped into her shower, that she couldn’t even squeeze the shampoo into her open palm correctly. She was shaking as she put her makeup on, mascara getting all over her eyelid. She was shaking when she couldn’t decide on what skirt to wear, selecting the first pair of jeans that she saw and throwing the outfit on her bed. She thankfully didn’t shake while she curled her hair, though; maybe it was her body’s way of preventing her from burning herself. Instead, she just stared into her reflection, trying her best to blink back tears because her eyeliner wasn’t waterproof in the slightest.

She looked at Gray’s lone hat on her table, realizing that this, whatever they ever had, would forever mean nothing. It had never meant anything in the first place; she told herself that right now, she was sick of being friends with someone like him. He was just a complete, stubborn dick, and he’d never be able to see his own faults. She even tried reasoning with him, she tried so hard to be patient, and then he just threw all that at her, like a heartless prick.

She would rather not have that in her life right now.

Even if hating him weren’t true, it was easier to convince herself that she did, so that she wouldn’t have to feel anything else.

Claire unclipped her heated curls to let them fall and loosen against her bare, naked skin. She searched through her drawer for something unconventional to wear underneath her planned outfit tonight, trying not to be afraid. It was the not-knowing of the evening that scared her the most; she was frightened of what she thought would happen, what was supposed to happen, and everything in between.

Her mind was effectively blocking out her promise, and whether this was unconscious or not, it helped calm her down; made her feel like any other normal gi-

Sorry, any other normal young _woman._ She told herself that it didn’t matter, whatever happened tonight was meant to be. That she couldn’t lose Trent—that she liked this foreign, scary, new feeling. That she didn’t really care what happened.

Even if this was a lie.

 _Nothing is going to happen,_ she inwardly prayed.

Claire found herself tangled.

She frowned as she rifled through her intimates. She couldn’t locate the purple thong that Karen got her—and maybe this was a golden sign from the universe, in a way.

She nearly scolded herself for thinking like this.

It’s just that... maybe it meant that nothing would have to be sealed in stone.

She shut her door, not allowing herself to wonder where Gray was, blocking the world out for a bit.

She needed a break from it all—everything was so exhausting.

“My love,” Trent said, upon answering his door. He frowned, his face lacking any deep creases in his smile lines. His skin looked tighter than usual, did she not notice that this morning? “What’s the matter?”

Claire shook her head, forcing a grin. Looking at him all handsome like this, it didn’t seem so hard to muster up anymore. His house smelt delicious, and he wore accidental matching clothes to her own: both of them in black long-sleeved shirts and blue pants. She almost laughed, kissing him deeply. Her mind slipped as she held him close.

He squeezed her against his body. “I love you.”

“I can’t believe how much I had missed you,” Claire explained, hugging him tightly. She needed something stable and he felt stable; this was the stable in her life.

Trent kissed her hair down to her ear and neck, causing her to shudder. She closed the door with the back of her heeled boot, lips fervent on his.

It’s not like Claire didn’t… look, she had wants and desires, too. Just, not exactly in that sense. But she was always curious. One time, she found a recipe that was titled “better-than-sex” brownies, and the name of it just confused the heck out of her. How could something that sounded so painful and intense be better than brownies? _We're talking B-R-O-W-N-I-E-S here, people_. _Like, no thanks._

And it’s not like she knew how to… make herself feel good at all, either. Everything was too sensitive and heightened down there; she was way too tight, and it scared her into not even wanting to try and figure out her body. Plus, then she’d have to go to confession for trying to… masturbate, _ew,_ and how do you even tell a priest that? It wasn’t worth the potential trip to hell that her church back home said you’d be doomed for if you didn’t repent over it afterward.

But, when Claire had kissed Trent behind her barn, when the hardness in his pants rubbed that one spot between her legs, she… was very… aroused. _God,_ she sounded so lame, she should just start saying _horny_ or _wet_ like Samantha from _Sex and the City_ did.

She was doomed.

“Come, sit down,” Trent told her, weaving his fingers through hers. His skin was cold like usual, so she cupped her hands between his own, trying to warm him up.

“You’re freezing,” Claire giggled, shivering.

She thought of his hands on her body, and immediately tensed up.

“Help me get warm then,” he said with a playful glint in his eyes. He brought her to his kitchen, where a candlelit spread had been laid out.

Her heart swooned. Any doubt ever, in her whole mind about everything, was replaced with her love for him.

And Trent made it all perfect—every single thing. Nothing was out of place; he did everything just right, and the only words that could exit her mouth were ones out of sheer love. She loved this man, she always had. Her heart swarmed and her body responded to his, with everything—she just truly loved him.

He said all of the right things, made her feel wanted in every regard. They talked throughout dinner about his life back home… she asked if he would ever take her there one day. And he beamed, glad that she had finally warmed up to the idea. But Claire wanted to meet his parents, even if the mention of them made him look weary. Family was a complicated subject—hadn’t her roommate taught her this?

“Claire,” Trent said.

“Yeah?” She had finished clearing the table; it was the least that she could do after he had planned all of this. She had her back to him, placing all of the nice cutlery in his luxe dishwasher. He stood behind her, out of her peripheral as he fiddled with something.

“Can you take out two wine glasses? I want to share a drink with you.”

“I… Okay. That sounds lovely.” Claire wasn’t one to drink, but on a beautiful evening like this, how could she say no? She reached onto her tippy toes into his cupboard, retrieving the wine glasses and placing them down on the counter. She turned around.

Only to see her boyfriend down on one knee.

Her heart nearly stopped beating entirely.

Claire froze as he reached into his pocket, a little black box in hand.

“I have wanted to do this for so long,” Trent stated, expression soft and warm. He pulled her closer to him because she was still immobilized, her mouth hanging open like an idiot. “I should have made you mine sooner, but… Lord, Claire. I need you by my side, as my woman for the rest of my days on this earth. Will… will you marry me?”

_Too young, not ready to settle down, don’t have enough money saved up._

She frenetically pushed all of those thoughts away, the doubts getting evicted from her mind as she dropped her hand, nodding through newfound tears.

“Oh, my… oh, gosh, Trent. Yes! Yes, of course I’ll marry you!”

He smiled, wiping his eye, slipping the beautiful diamond on the fourth finger of her dominant hand. He stood up, pulling her closer as he planted the most passionate kiss over her lips. She held him back, the ring dazzling and _heavy_. She thought he was going to have to pinch her, like this was all some elaborate dream.

“Oh, my gosh,” she repeated, staring at the diamond. She had never owned a ring before, not in her whole life, but no big deal… there was just a freaking engagement band resting right above her knuckle!!

Trent laughed, pulling back to stare at her so lovingly. He gazed down at the ring on her finger, kissing her again more feverishly.

“How long have you planned this?!” she asked, breaking away from him. She had to keep dabbing at her inner corners to prevent her tears from falling—she was so _happy._

“I ordered it before I left for back home, but I made the final payment for it this morning.” Trent winked. “It looks stunning on you.”

Her heart pounded, and then—

“Who knows?” she whispered.

He seemed to smirk at this. “You.”

“Duh.” Claire laughed nervously, her head full of jitters. She never expected… ever… _her engaged?!_

“Just you.” He nuzzled her neck. “And the blacksmith shop owner. But, I can’t wait to announce it to the whole town.”

She stared down at the ring, at all that it represented—the promise, the commitment, the sheer dedication and love. She felt herself weeping all over again. It was an enormous weight, in the best way possible.

“And,” Trent continued, placing the jewelry box that had contained the ring back in his pocket.

Claire laughed through her tears. “Another surprise?”

He retrieved an envelope from the table, handing it to her and nodding for her to open it.

She did with shaky hands, scanning the document before frowning in confusion. It was a receipt for a bill of sorts.

“What… what’s this?”

“I told Thomas that your next few payments would be covered by me. There it all is: your water bill, your heating bill, your air conditioning.” He paused, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Your house mortgage.”

Claire’s face dropped. Did she hear him correctly? “What do you mean?” she whispered.

“Well, you said that I didn’t have a say in anything if I didn’t pay for it, so.” Trent nodded at her warmly. “I paid for it, love.”

_… Oh._

“U-um.”

“Therefore, I do have a say in it.”

Claire didn’t move for a solid five minutes. She just kept scanning the document, a fog of realization settling in.

“I don’t like the way that he speaks to you _or_ me, Claire,” said Trent firmly. He didn’t have to clarify who he meant. “You’re doing him a favour, and he’s ungrateful as hell.”

She didn’t know what to say, her mind was incomprehensible.

“I-I can’t accept this.”

“Of course you can. I took care of it, because you need to see how not right all of it is.”

“Trent,” she said softly. “You… you shouldn’t have… you _really_ didn’t have to—” The money that he must have spent with all of this made her feel ridiculously guilty.

What was going to happen now? Sure, she was pissed with Gray at the moment, but she couldn’t just—

Trent waved his hand. “We can talk about it more, later, Claire, but you deserve better. You don’t need a jackass like him in your life.”

Claire set the paper down, but her eyes stayed glued to the document. Her stomach was in knots. “We can… we can talk about this more later, you’re right.”

She felt Trent’s eyes on her as he got up to pour their drinks, eventually returning with two filled glasses of deep burgundy wine. She surveyed them, picking the one that looked least full in comparison to the other.

He grabbed it from her hands, gesturing for her to select the other one. “That one’s yours, I added something to mine that you wouldn’t like.”

She just offered him a weary, small smile, taking the wine glass and sipping from it. Her mind was still going in circles, but she told herself to relax. Things would work themselves out; it would all be good.

Trent hadn’t brought up… anything worrisome tonight, actually. Well, worrisome in _that_ regard. With each sip of her wine, she was feeling better already. Claire listened to the little clink of metal against her glass that her ring was responsible for. Would this be the kind of sound that she’d get used to hearing? _Every time._

“This is how it’s supposed to be,” said Trent. He clutched her free hand. “This is how I need you.”

Claire nodded lightly as she forced herself to finish her drink—she had the urge to kiss him, to have him all to herself.

He watched with careful eyes.

“Like a family,” she said, her head still swimming. The room felt so open and airy, she was warm and she felt oh-so-loved. Her head span, in a good way. She felt like she hadn’t a care in the world. Is this why people regularly drank?

“You’re mine, Claire,” Trent told her, kissing her gently.

“I love you,” she mumbled, hand setting her glass down. It knocked over from her unsteadiness. She felt so sleepy; food and wine and an engagement made the best combo.

_An engagement?!_

Claire felt her lids get heavy, eyes going all glassy. But Trent’s beautiful figure was right in front of her, and she felt so warm, so happy to be in his presence.

“Come with me,” he said, pulling her hand. The world suddenly looked all loopy, and she nearly stumbled into him. His hands straightened her body up, supported her as they walked. It was as though she was stepping on a fluffy cloud.

“Remember our exam?” Trent asked, his lips on her neck.

Claire blinked, not remembering where she was two minutes ago, how she had even gotten there.

“Ah… um, mhm.”

“Come,” he told her, kissing her hair, her collarbone, leading her away from it all. She lost herself in everything. She felt wired but numb—what a wonderful feeling.

 _What a feeling._ And she required more of it. More of him. More and more and more and more.

And more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual footage of me writing the Claire-Trent "romantic" bits   
> Gray really do be going about this whole shit all wrong. I feel like with the night they just had, him making a comment like that and accusing her of not giving a shit really did not sit well with her. And then on top of Claire being manipulated by Trent, both emotionally, financially, and eventually physically... ugh it's all so unsettling.
> 
> And Elli!!! SHE DESERVES THE WHOLE WORLD SO HOW IS SOMETHING LIKE THIS HAPPENING— 
> 
> K I'm done debriefing (don't wanna give too much away), it's onto part 2 ->


	38. The Fight (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR!! 🥳💕 This is part 2 of a 2 chapter update. Again, I wrote too much, had to divide it into separate parts haha. Similar to Chapter 29 "The Funeral," this will be told from present, to past, back to present, in order to get to the full picture. As a trigger warning, please note that these chapters will contain depictions of sexual assault and violence. There is also mention of drug usage.

“A bottle,” Gray told Doug. “ _Jack Daniels_.”

He smiled over at him, rifling through the cabinet of liquor. “Hmm, I’m outta that. Shipment’s comin’ in after the holidays.”

“Fuck,” he said.

“How ‘bout this _Knob Creek_ instead? It ain’t bad.”

Gray considered this. He wasn’t planning on breaking routine tonight.

 _Breaking routine._ Just listen to him.

“Try a shot of it with me, son.” Doug beamed at him, and Gray stopped feeling bad about fucking his daughter right under his nose the second the bourbon hit his throat. It was good, it was always good and he fucking needed this.

“What the hell?!” He felt someone pull on the back of his shirt, trying her best to drag him away. Ann was too weak to hardly even move him, but he decided to drag his feet and comply with her anyway. Maybe it would get her to give him what he had been planning on asking her for.

“Lighten up,” Doug called out to her. “We were just doing a shot!”

Ann glared at Gray, shoving him in the corner. They were near—wait for it—the inn’s coat check closet.

That had felt like lightyears ago.

“You shouldn’t be drinking, dipshit,” she snapped. Gray had a feeling that she wouldn’t be letting him leave with a bottle of anything tonight—Ann was physically weak, but persistent as hell. Whatever she told her father, went.

He immediately decided to change the subject to what he was needing from her. “Do you still have your Ativan?”

She looked confused. “Huh?”

The last time he fucked her back in the spring, after he went to clean up in her bathroom, he saw her anxiety benzodiazepines on the cabinet. She said she didn’t like taking them anymore, but he had a feeling that she still hadn’t gotten rid of the medication.

“I know you do,” he said.

Ann scowled at him. “What’re you—?”

“I know you don’t take ‘em anymore. Can you just give them to me?”

“… Christ, are you fucking serious?!” Her cerulean eyes were flashing; she looked about ready to kill him. “You can’t have them, Gray! Are you mental or something?!”

“Not really.”

“You’re _high_ if you think that I’m gonna give them to you.”

“I’m not high, that’s what I’m tryna accomplish here if you just give me your fuckin’ benzos.”

Ann shook her head in disbelief. She looked disappointed; this is how a lot of people were facing him lately. The worst was how he made Claire feel earlier—he hated seeing her like that, and it was entirely his fault for it. All that he did was drive her father away from him, and closer to Trent.

“Gray, please don’t do anything stupid,” Ann said, her tone pleading. “Why don’t you spend the night with us? So you’re not—”

“All alone?” he finished.

She stared at him.

Gray shoved his hands in his pockets, ready to make his departure. But he still wanted to try one last time. “You gonna give ‘em to me or not?”

She pushed past him, scoffing, making her way back to the bar as he followed suit. “You’re a moron if you think I’m gonna support your self-destructive behaviour, and if you think that _Claire_ is either, then—”

“Fuck off.” He pushed Claire out of his mind; not wanting to even consider what she could be doing right then and there at Trent’s. It felt like he had permanently ruined shit with her due to his inability to not be an asshole.

Doug tapped his shot glass against the tiled counter, trying to get their attention with the noise. “What’s, uh… what seems to be the problem here?”

The two of them glared at one another.

“Nothing,” said Ann with a scoff. “Gray was just leaving.”

And she spun on her heel, up the stairs to her room. The door shut heavily, its slam echoing around the bar.

That was fine by Gray—he’d get something stronger than a goddamn panic pill while he was at it.

* * *

“I love you, Claire.” Trent’s voice was so faraway in her ears. But when she weakly opened her eyes again, she realized that he was right there in front of her. “Say that you love me.”

She felt like she was looking through a dizzying kaleidoscope. Everything was different, appearing as though it was all through a looking glass. Like Alice after Wonderland.

She could only bring herself to gently smile up at him, trying to press her lips against his, but lacking any and all energy. She needed to sleep.

“Say it,” he repeated, more firmly.

“Mhm,” she said, eyes shutting slowly again.

He took her face between his thumb and his remaining fingers, squeezing. The force made her wake up a little. “Say that you want this.”

She couldn’t—she was just so sleepy.

“Claire.”

“I love you very much,” she whispered. She shut her eyes; the dream that she was having felt so surreal. The bed under her was soft and pillowy… why did she anticipate it to be hard and firm?

Trent’s hand traced its way around her skin, but it was a mere apparition in her mind; Claire needed to fall into a deep slumber. _So exhausted..._ she was just totally drained. But there would be no more fighting, no more arguing, nothing. She was getting married—she was getting everything she ever wanted. Her own family, her own life, and everything in between.

When his hand dove in through the front of her jeans, it caused her to weakly lift her head up. Everything felt like an underwater sequence.

“Tr…Trent,” Claire began, but her eyes started closing again. Was any of this real? It was like some kind of a hallucination.

And she was just so exhausted; she couldn’t determine what was her fantasy, and what was her reality.

“Shh,” he said. “Remember? You love me.”

She heard buttons unclasp, listened to the faraway noise of a zipper being pulled down. They sounded unreal—maybe it was all unreal.

Claire found herself relaxing, brought her head back down to the softness beneath her, staring up at his linoleum ceiling. She imagined every constellation ever in front of her, touched the Big Dipper with her finger, smiled up at Ursa Major. She traced out her zodiac constellation: she was a Cancer at heart, right on the cusp of Leo. The thought of a crab and a lion almost made her smile. She absently found herself enthralled with the archer’s constellation: Sagittarius, doodling its intricacy into the sky.

That was Gray’s star sign.

She immediately dropped her hands, feeling like she was about to cry.

Her skin felt colder, too; more exposed down there. She couldn’t sleep like this.

“Blanket,” Claire murmured, rubbing her eyes. She was sad and nodding off all over again.

“Don’t worry,” Trent told her. “You’ll be warm.”

* * *

Mary’s parents were fighting like usual.

This was no shock to her, and it was why she never had people over. Her father was always in disagreement with her mother, and her mother was always trying to keep up this falsified lie that they were living.

Mary had to obey though; she was like a lap dog at their beck-and-call. She told herself that she would never be brainwashed, that George Orwell’s _1984_ would never become her reality.

But maybe Big Brother already kind of was.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Anna demanded, storming out in front of her husband. She blocked his path, defiant arms crossed over her body as though this would stop him from leaving.

It never did.

“Out,” Basil answered, scoffing.

“You’re not going to spend the Starry Night Festival with your family?!”

Mary almost laughed. If this was a family, her mother needed to check out the Webster’s dictionary that they kept downstairs for a better, clear-cut definition.

Still, she couldn’t hate her mother; she always listened to her. Whatever she said, whatever she did, she had to take as gospel.

“I’ll be back later,” her father mumbled, removing his coat from their hallway closet. Mary sat at the table in their den, unperturbed. She polished her glasses absently, returning back to her novel. This fighting was nothing new to her.

“Like hell you will. Just try and you’ll find this door completely locked tonight when you get back! And Mary will _not_ be opening it for you.”

The way that Mary saw it, her father would have never cheated in the first place if Ann’s mother hadn’t been the temptress that persuaded him to stray all of those years ago. Not to speak ill of the dead, but she was a menace, having completely betrayed her mom’s trust. The destruction of Mary’s family that occurred well-before she was born was all that woman’s fault.

According to Anna.

It was easy to make a dead woman the scapegoat.

The drumming of someone’s knuckles was prompted over their door. Anna froze, a worried look crossing her face.

“W-who is that? Oh, dear Lord.”

Mary knew her mother must have been worried that it was one of her friends listening in on all the fighting. She had to keep feeding lies to everyone that she came across.

Her father scowled, opening the door with zero hesitation.

“Uh, sorry to… bug you.”

“Not at all,” said Basil, his tone levelled. “Why don’t you come on in, before you catch a cold?”

Did Mary expect to see the town’s volatile blacksmith at their door this Starry Night Evening?

Not a chance in hell.

But she was able to put two and two together instantly.

Gray was here for her father’s side business. You know, the one that her mother must have discovered years ago, but that she pretended not to know about. Just to keep up their image.

Maybe all of this pretending from birth made Mary cynical by nature. Maybe she was always bound to be like this.

Gray simply nodded at her. He already looked wired. The guy had serious substance abuse issues, even if he tried to plainly hide it. And it made sense, given that his father decided to mix double the amount of Prozac with fentanyl-laced hydrocodone one night. Watching your mother die and then being unable to find a pulse in your daddy’s neck would do that to a person, she supposed.

Mary didn’t know if Basil was the one who supplied Gray’s dad with the Vicodin.

And it wasn’t like she could bring herself to ask him either.

“Grayson!” Anna cooed. “How… _wonderful_ to find you here on a night like this. Do you want a water bottle? Mary can go and fetch you one.”

 _Fetch?_ She really was like a dog.

“No,” Gray said, rude as usual. Mary couldn’t believe that once upon a time, she had tried to work _him_ down… all for some stupid bet that she thought could make her fit in.

“Anna,” said Basil. “Why don’t you go upstairs a minute? I need you to find me my hat before I leave.”

Her mother just glared at him, walking slowly up their stairs.

_Jesus, just get a divorce already._

There was no way that Anna didn’t know what was going on here. She was not a stupid woman.

Basil gave her an expected look, and Mary just obediently went into their kitchen, giving him the privacy that she knew he required. Though she could already picture his next moves as he walked over to the side of the living room, pulling out the fourth book on the left side of their shelf. It was where he hid his supplies.

Her spoiled, rich cousin in Forget-Me-Not Valley had a substance thing going on too; she only did designer drugs, but shit, who supplied her? Was there just an endless supply of drug dealers, the same way there were always mailmen around so that there’d never be any kinds of shortages _?_ “ _Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night… we’ll get your fix to you, no prob.”_

“You can’t do this shit when my wife and kid are home,” Basil muttered. “That’s my goddamn rule.”

“Man, fuck off, will ya? You think they don’t know what you got set up here?” She could almost hear Gray’s smirk.

“You want a fix or not?” her father snapped.

“… Do you have any percs?”

“I have oxy.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Her father pushed some books away quietly, rummaging though the big red one until she heard a bag being crinkled. He kept things in Ziploc bags, because orange pill bottles made too much noise. He could just keep them in empty _Tic Tac_ boxes to keep things inconspicuous, but she digressed.

“Don’t go mixing this shit with booze,” Basil instructed, as though he was the expert on how to recreationally take oxycodone responsibly. She listened to the sound of money being exchanged for these goods and services. If you could call it that. “I’m not responsible if you die.”

To her surprise, she heard Gray chuckle. “Yeah, sounds good.”

As Mary emerged from their kitchen with a water bottle, her father took this opportunity to dart out their front door without saying goodbye.

She just handed Gray the _Evian_. None of this was surprising to her anymore. “Better stay hydrated.”

Gray shrugged, taking it from her hesitantly. It was sealed—not like it could be… laced with drugs or anything like that. _Pfft._

“What do you got goin’ on tonight?” he asked her.

“Literally nothing,” she said, pushing her glasses up her nose. She wrapped her arms around her body, suddenly very self-conscious to be standing this close next to him. Despite the fact that Mary had come to realize that she was asexual by nature, she still found herself tongue-tied when around someone as attractive as Gray. Shit head junkie or not, the guy was terrifyingly beautiful, with translucent eyes, sharp cheekbones, and a tall, built figure. His hair hung like a tousled, auburn mess over his head, lacking the presence of his usual cap. He was like an intimidating male model.

“Yeah, same.”

Mary arched her brow. “I wouldn’t call the experience of an opiate high ‘nothing.’”

Gray stared at her, before deciding that a shrug would suffice as a response.

The fact that he had the balls to do this shit while living with someone as religious as Claire pissed her off too, for some reason. Much like her stupid cousin Lumina, this guy was also going about life thinking that the world was his.

“You know, if you’re gonna do that in Claire’s house—”

“Jesus, Mary,” he said, shoving the pills in his pocket as he left. She watched the front door swing open as Gray disappeared into the wintery night before her.

Her mother immediately came downstairs, fuming. “Was that your father who just walked out that door?”

“Nope, town’s apprentice blacksmith.”

“Well, _where_ is your father?” she huffed.

“He told you that he was going out.”

Anna scowled, making her way into their kitchen to pour herself another glass of wine, her third one of the night. Mary stared out the window, at Gray’s little figure that was already so far away in the distance, watching the snow fall with a frown.

“Can I go out, Mother?”

Not that she had anywhere to go, really.

Anna made a noise that sounded like a mixture of a laugh and a snort. “You are to stay inside, Mary.”

“Yeah…” Mary slid her cheek into her hand. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

It was a fucked up world out there, after all.

* * *

It felt like Claire lost her underwear underneath this deep sea that she had found herself caught in. She imagined being at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, the dark sand cold on her skin as she tried to view the sky above the water’s ripples. She thought about The Little Mermaid, her red hair floating so freely in the water, imagined her own.

A moan fell out of her mouth when she felt a hand stroking between her legs, right at her core.

Claire didn’t know what was happening—she had never successfully touched herself like this before. It nearly woke her up, out of all this.

“Claire,” Trent said, sounding angry. How could he be angry? Their evening was beautiful, and everything felt so weightlessly light around them. “I need you to hear me out very carefully, okay?”

“Mhm,” she agreed, a small smile gracing her lips. If she was being honest, she wanted to keep feeling touched like this.

“Got it?”

“Ah-huh.”

“I don’t like _any_ hair, okay? I need you to shave it all fully for next time. _All_ of it. Say you understand.”

“Hair,” she murmured, nodding. She didn’t understand a thing. “Mhm.”

“I don’t like it,” Trent repeated.

She thought he loved the fact that her hair grew so long on her head, like Rapunzel. Pretty and blonde.

Claire heard a belt clink, was she wearing a belt? Or, maybe it was the sound of her little ring hitting something. She held it up in front of her face, losing herself in the shine of the diamond. She belonged to someone, she was happy to be like this, happy to finally fit in somewhere, and—

A sharp pain seared through her. She outwardly gasped, wondering how a fire found itself in her Atlantis.

“T-T-Trent—”

“You’re fine,” he said. She could hardly crane her neck to see him; she just saw the way that his hand disappeared itself between her legs. She felt full, she couldn’t quite describe it. Just that she was filled. “Say you’re fine.”

“I-I feel tight.” She managed to weakly keep her eyes open longer this time, but felt her head growing impossibly heavy on her body. She dropped it back down, gaze on the ceiling before her, swallowing to try and keep her breathing steady. She didn’t know what was happening.

Trent grinned, let out a moan. “I know.”

Claire swallowed again, focused on the Big Dipper, on all of the other constellations, on mermaids with their hairs voluminous, on everything in between here and there. Trent drew in a sharp breath, before finally removing his fingers from her, and she immediately felt like she could breathe again. She was so tired… and although awake, maybe if she just closed her eyes for a second too long, maybe—

She listened to the sound of another zipper being pulled down again, watched as Trent climbed over her, kept her close, his voice groaning, fabric being shimmied, until—

He made a small, choked out noise, something guttural and low.

Her world was silent for a moment, until she watched his hand slam into the wall, a series of frustrated _no’s_ and _why the fuck is this happening?!_ being elicited. He swore madly, hit his fist above her head in frustration, cursed and cursed as she listened to tissues being ruffled. His voice berated himself in disappointment.

He dabbed at a dark spot in his pants, at his crotch, before exiting the room in fury.

And Claire allowed her eyes to fully shut. She forced herself to try and get warm again, despite all of the cold.

* * *

Everything felt tender and sore.

Her memory was jaded, not a thing within her retained.

She was confused and achy, and it made her want to cry upon waking up.

“Good morning,” Trent said, standing at the foot of his bed. He slipped on a sweater vest to go over his shirt, frowning.

Claire looked down, realizing that she was still in her clothes from yesterday. She had even packed a pair of pajamas—was she too tired to change?

There was a kind of inflammation within her.

“Hi,” she managed out, still so sleepy.

He nodded at her, walking over to his kitchenette.

She slowly rose from the bed to follow, but it was as though her body was lugging bricks. Her jeans were stiff against her skin, the buttons on it clasped.

And her fly was low.

She swallowed, trying to get herself to stand up without feeling unsteady. Each step felt like a mountain that she had to climb, everything was so sore.

But… no. It wasn’t everything.

It was one thing.

Her skin paled; her throat felt as though it had sealed itself shut.

“What happened?” Claire asked Trent softly, seating herself across from him at his kitchen table. She wasn’t sure how she found herself being okay with just sleeping next to him last night.

She wasn’t sure what had even happened.

Trent simply pointed to her fourth finger.

There was a diamond ring on there, perturbed from her sleep. He carefully adjusted it. “Remember?”

She swallowed thickly again. “We’re engaged.”

“We are.” He took a slow, steady sip from his oolong tea.

“But what else happened?” Claire's voice was barely above a whisper.

He frowned at her again. “You don’t remember your exam?”

“My exam?” Her throat got tight. Every part of her felt coiled and wound up, like a squeezed elastic band ready to tear.

… Did she tear?

“You need better control of your liquor,” he chastised.

“But it was only one glass, and I ate—”

“Is something the matter?” Trent knitted his thick brows at her.

“I-I don’t know—”

“What do you not know? I said I’d perform it when I got back, and you agreed.”

“But… I agreed last night?”

He nodded.

“To do it last night,” she clarified.

He nodded again.

“And… and that’s all that happened?”

Trent set his drink aside angrily. “What are you implying? Or better yet, what are you accusing me of?”

“Nothing!” Claire held her hands out desperately. What _was_ she implying? Her stomach dropped. “Trent… Trent I promise—”

“Because I won’t be having these disputed debates when we’re married, Claire.”

She felt her heart sink along, too. “I just didn’t remember doing it, and it seems weird I agreed to on… on a holiday—”

He stared at her. “Do you hear yourself?”

She _did_ sound stupid. God, what was wrong with her?! What was she trying to say? She trusted this man—her _fiancée_ , and if he said that she agreed, then she agreed.

It just… why did it feel like a part of her got lost in everything? Was this how screwed up she was—one gynecological exam and she felt like some kind of a broken promise to the world?

… Did this break her promise?

Did she initiate more when she was intoxicated because of everything she’d thought previously? Trent was the professional, did more happen because of her? Did she underestimate just how scared and unprepared she was for everything in life?!

Did she break her fucking promise?!

“Nothing else happened,” he said firmly, narrowing his eyes. “But keep disputing.”

Claire’s cheeks burned. Why did she always have to go and ruin everything? “I wasn’t disputing… Trent, I was just confused. I… I think it hurt, but I really don’t remember. I’m… I’m just n-not sure if I was ready for that.”

“You didn’t bleed,” Trent stated, staring at the wall. He brought his mug to his lips again, taking a long sip.

She didn’t know why this provided her with a slight, fleeting relief, but it did. Maybe she was too stuck on the exam, maybe her head was swimming with the exhaustion of her thoughts and everything, but maybe this was just what she had been waiting to hear. “Oh, that’s good, right?”

 _Good for who?_ Good for her health, or good for her hymen?

Trent seemed peeved, but he appeared this way even before she began bringing all this up. Like something had bothered him, like something had occurred—like she had done something horrible.

Her heart immediately fell all over again. _Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,_ what had happened last night?! She felt like she was missing pieces of herself when he looked at her like this.

Why did she feel so different?

“You’re always honest with me.”

 _Oh, God._ “Yes,” she said softly.

“Always?”

Did she say something in her sleep? _Oh, God._

“Trent, always.”

“I’m going to be honest then, Claire: what’s going to happen in a week?”

“... What’s in a week?”

“Our wedding.”

“A week,” she said, dumbfounded.

“It’s already been booked,” he told her. He stared at his mug in front of him, then back at her.

“A week,” she repeated.

“… Do you even want to marry me?” Trent demanded, burying his head in his hands.

She widened her eyes and rushed over to him. God, she wasn’t _ever_ going to tell _anyone_ the true story of how her engagement came to be. How could she be such an idiot? She was busy grappling with the whole fact that she felt like she lost part of herself, but how could that be possible if it were just an exam, and then why was she so sore... and on top of all that, how could she be ready for anything life had panned out for her—

“Trent, I’m sorry,”

“You aren’t even ready to make love to me.” He got up from his seat, made his way into the examination room as she followed him hastily.

“I am!” she exclaimed. “I… I am.”

Who was she kidding?

“You’re going to fucking argue every time—Claire, when we’re married, I shouldn’t even have to ask!”

Her breath exited her body. _Sex on command?_ That was what a husband expected, she supposed.

Claire felt beyond stupid. She had so much to know, to learn. How could she just—

“I love you,” she told him desperately, and she kissed his cheek, her lips trembling because of the nerves, because of the nerves she told herself.

The nerves.

“I grew up… I was rough. Rough and wild, Claire. I was beaten senseless, do you know what that’s like? This is why my family will not be attendance at the wedding with us. I mean, forgive me if I’m not a bit more gentle—”

“Trent,” she said, trying to hide the shock from her voice. She didn’t know any of this. “No, please don’t apologize. I love you.”

“Beaten. Do you know beaten, Claire? Hit, abused—You’re the only thing that I’ve ever wanted, ever loved, and you don’t even—”

“I had no idea. You never told me that—”

“Are you accusing me of making it all up?” he snapped, his words gnashing at her. “Fabricating this?”

“No!” she exclaimed, mortified tears burning in her eyes. “No. I… I just...” _Abused? Beaten?_ God, maybe this was the only life that he knew. She forgot about her own broken parts, thought about Trent, her heart shattering for him. As usual, she wasn’t making this any easier.

“Say you love me,” he mumbled.

Something tugged at her gut, like déjà vu, but she shoved the feeling away.

“… I love you very much.”

And Trent stared at her, lunged for her as he tackled her back on patient cot.

Claire staggered, dizzy. Her head hit the cold, smooth exam table, the cushion behind her hard and firm. Trent climbed over her, telling her how badly he needed this, how he couldn’t wait another second.

He held her and moaned into her neck: _say that this is what you want._

But she couldn’t find the words. Her voice felt caught in her throat; she didn’t know what was happening.

So, she just nodded eventually.

And told herself that this is what she wanted.

This is the way that things were meant to be.

It would be good practice.

Maybe it wouldn’t… be so bad.

She said everything that she thought she needed to hear.

His fingers worked at the button of her jeans and she felt herself pale, swallowing hard.

It would be better to do it now… right?

Maybe it… would make things hurt less on their wedding night.

She couldn’t say no because it would be proving everything that he said right.

She just silently begged her mother, begged her whole doctrine to forgive her.

Trent worked her jeans down her bum, her thighs. Claire was convinced that she wasn’t breathing anymore—all of this felt like a life that she had lived before, but she couldn’t place any of it.

No more disruptions—

The sound of the front door to the clinic chiming almost made her tear up on the spot.

“Eh? Doctor? Are you there?”

Claire managed to push Trent off of her, sitting upright on the exam table, its paper crinkling from underneath her every movement. The sound was lurid in her ears.

“Old man Barley,” she whispered.

Trent cursed loudly, released her body from his grasp.

She allowed her oxygen to return, nearly crying from how grateful she was for this interruption.

That feeling should have been a red flag right then and there, but she snubbed it instantly.

Trent succeeded in composing himself, smoothing out his shirt as he managed a smile toward her. He grabbed his lab coat from the side of the desk, slipping it on.

And then he stuck out his hand to her.

Claire stared at it.

“I suppose I’m on the clock, now,” he said with a laugh. His entire demeanor had changed. “Hey, why don’t we go and announce our engagement to the first person this morning, together. And while I’m at work, you can go around town telling everyone.”

She could only nod again.

“And then…” His eyes held a lusted glint toward her own. “Tonight—”

“We could just wait a week,” Claire said, cutting him off in a small voice.

Something crossed his face, and she really wished that she had just bit back those words.

But they were exactly how she was feeling.

Claire was petrified. She had already felt broken, and she didn’t know what else to say.

It wasn’t his fault, though—she wrote off all of the blame on her stupid self.

To her surprise, Trent tousled her hair and smiled at her. He held her shoulders and kissed her forehead so lovingly. She shut her eyes and absorbed the feeling of his lips on hers, coming to the realization that being with someone like _her_ was no easy fix.

She was always clinging to him as best as she could; there would be no slipping away now, right? The ring on her finger meant that he was here to stay.

But, commitment meant sacrifices.

Maybe she would have to come to terms with making some of her own.

“Tonight,” Trent continued, miffed by her interruption. “Have your girls’ night, see your friends, and then… who knows what will transpire! We could even show everyone up at the bar later on.”

She just nodded again, trying her best to force a believable smile. She told herself to just focus on the good of last night, the part that she remembered: his proposal.

Her heart was racing, though not in the same fashion that it had been doing all winter long.

“Hello, Barley,” he said, as they made their way to him, beaming. “You’re the first person to officially hear about our engagement!” Trent grabbed Claire’s left hand and showed off the ring.

She felt wobbly just staring at his fingers like that. Her mind was consumed not only with the fact that they were inside of her last night for the examination, but that she didn’t _remember_ how they felt being there. She thought about how they were what made her so sore and achy today, convinced herself that maybe she was a little grateful that she couldn’t recall how accidentally rough Trent was.

It was okay though, she told herself that it was okay, because at least she could find comfort in recollecting the softness beneath her that she had been laying upon.

“What derangement?” asked Barley. “Anyway, my leg’s been actin’ up.”

But it was strange—the exam table was hard and firm. It wasn’t soft at all.

* * *

Gray had spent the night alone with Maggie—this was what he knew. All three _Die Hard_ movies were playing on T.V., and it really was a Christmas Eve/ Starry Night bullshit to remember.

But the high was so nice. It was exactly what he needed, reminiscent of his days back in Chicago.

He wished he had the bottle of whiskey, though.

_Yippee Kai Yay, motherfucker._

Claire didn’t return until the next day, and by that time, Gray’d been gone.

He parked himself at the bar stool, and without Ann present to regulate shit, drank alone in a room full of people, because it was all that he knew how to do.

He didn’t find himself in isolation for nearly as long as he would have liked, though.

* * *

“Lookit the size of that rock!” exclaimed Karen. Her mouth hung open, digging through Ann’s closet while still catching long, repeated glances at the ring on Claire’s finger. “Oh, man.”

Claire took back her hand wearily, catching a sweater that had been absently discarded before it hit the floor.

Ann looked up from the edge of her bed, where she had been previously staring up at the ceiling. “Who knows?”

Karen stopped her rummaging to stare at the diamond for a really long time again, her eyes not leaving its sight. She waved Ann over. “Ann, seriously, c’mere and lookit the size of it!”

Ann shifted her gaze for a split second, then went back to the ceiling, like it was the most enticing thing ever. “I saw.”

“C’mere though!”

“… Yeah. It’s neat.”

“ _Neat?_ Holy shit, it’s massive.”

Claire stared at Ann, trying to fold the sweater neatly in her arms. A stitch of fabric got caught on the ring—that had been happening a lot. She wasn’t used to it quite yet. “Just you guys know. And Old Man Barley. And Carter, I guess.”

Ann arched her brow. “You haven’t told the gossip squad yet?”

She shook her head.

“What about Gray?”

Claire stared down at the floor, handing the folded-up sweater back to Karen. She just distractedly tossed it away again.

Ann scowled. “You live with the guy and you still can’t bring yourself to tell him?”

Claire narrowed her eyes. “K, it’s really not that—we honestly just haven’t seen each other. And you better not tell him… it’s gotta come from me.”

Ann shrugged, lifting up an old, beat up t-shirt that Karen threw away at her. “Believe me, I got no business in telling him.”

“Why are you both bickering?” Karen asked, stopping what she was doing to place her hand on her hip with a frown. “Claire, keep it up and you’re gonna lose that marital glow.”

It was like she didn’t hear her, though. “Why aren’t you happy for me?” Claire asked Ann.

She sighed. “You’re awfully young, it’s a lot to think about.”

“Well, it’s not like it’s something that _you_ have to think about, though.”

“Okay, okay,” said Karen. “I’m Switzerland here… knock it off. Let’s keep it neutral, folks.”

Ann frowned, blocking her out. “I just dunno how Gray’s gonna take it, considering that him and your _fiancée_ aren’t exactly simpatico.”

Claire shrugged, even if this factor did gnaw at her. She didn’t know how the hell she’d be able to face him, how she’d be able to even get the words out of her mouth to tell him. “He’s going to learn to get over it, or he loses me in his life.”

She couldn’t believe that she had spoken those words into existence; it made everything all-too real.

It made her miserable to even think about.

* * *

“One glass of white wine,” said Trent, nodding over at Doug.

Doug smiled, his mustache crinkling, returning with a filled, clear glass.

Gray was too busy losing count of how many drinks he had had.

Trent slipped something to Doug, a little manilla envelope, instructing him to open it tomorrow.

Doug frowned, but took it anyway, placing it in his breast pocket. He went to go bring a drink to a waiting table behind them.

Trent took a slow sip of his wine, smiling smugly at Gray. “How’s it going?”

Gray ignored him; he was drunk as hell. What the fuck did this guy want? Couldn’t he just be left alone at the goddamn bar in peace?

“You know, I’ll bet people ask you that question a lot, but they don’t really _want_ to hear your answer.” Trent smiled at him coolly. “They don’t really want to hear about how much you still harp over the death of one woman, how you can’t bring yourself to let that shit go.”

Gray stared straight ahead, his fist tightening instinctively. He was about three seconds overdue from knocking this shit’s lights out. It was bound to happen; he was ready.

And… it looked like Trent was prepared for it.

“That’s why you got yourself harping over one girl, still,” Trent said, downing back his wine. “You have to accept the fact that she’s done with you. You’re going to be out of her life.”

Gray didn’t dare look at him. The second he did, his drunken fist was going to collide with his pretty-boy face.

Trent’s voice came out again, his Southern drawl tainted with liquour. The guy didn’t know when to fucking stop.

“And you wanna know something else about her? I think you were wrong. I think she lied.”

* * *

Ann simply stared at Claire. “Whatever. Tell him, don’t tell him, doesn’t make a difference to me.”

Claire scowled at her. _Figures, she’s taking Gray’s side._

“Ohh, my God,” said Karen with a huff. “First of all, I will not be ignored. Second of all, like, Ann, you’re just mad that you haven’t been dicked down in centuries, and Claire, you’re just mad that getting dicked down wasn’t all that you thought it was cracked up to be last night.”

They both glared at her in anger, scoffing. “So not it!” they snapped simultaneously, before turning to each other with a short laugh.

“Ha, jinx, so funny, you both said something at the same time, how hilar.” Karen rolled her eyes with a wave of her hand, before winking at the both of them. “One day, I will get you guys drunk as fuck, and I will learn _all_ of your secrets.”

“I _wish_ you kept secrets,” Ann said with another snicker. “I hate the fact that I know how many sex toys you own.”

“It’s more than one?” Claire had to giggle. “Yikes, Kare.”

She huffed. “Different variations for different moods. _Duh_.”

“Duh,” repeated Ann, shaking her head with a smile. “I do like that vibrator you gave me, though, if I’m bein’ honest. Even if it was the weirdest present I’ve ever received.”

“See? You can’t hate.” Karen winked again, before turning to Claire, giving her a tap on the bum. “Let’s do something fun together! Now that you’re no longer gonna be a free woman.”

Was she right, in a way?

“You’re dumb as shit, Kare,” said Ann, with a roll of her eyes.

“ _I’m_ the married one here. I know how this shit operates. Now put this on!” She threw Ann’s old soccer uniform at her. “We can _accessorize_ it.”

Ann rolled her eyes, complying so that she didn’t have to hear it from her. She took off her shirt, slipping it over her torso. “I could cut it up, actually,” she said, surveying the old, green fabric.

“Try this on, Claire!” Karen exclaimed, tossing a tank top at her head.

“That’s gonna be _way_ too tight on me,” Claire said with a grimace, holding out the baby yellow top. _Oh yeah, not happening._ “It’ll look so…”

“Slutty,” Karen finished.

“I don’t really like that word.”

“Neither does Ann,” she said. “’Cause it’s like her second name.”

Ann chucked a ball from her floor at Karen’s head, snorting. “You’re actually such a bitch.”

“Takes one to know one!” She stuck her tongue out at her. “You better put it on, Claire, or else you totally suck.”

Claire shook her head and laughed, tossing an old pair of Ann’s windbreaker pants at her. “Only if you put these on!”

“Wow,” Ann remarked. “This’ll be the first time that anyone’s actually seeing you in clothes, Kare.”

She flipped her off, laughing. “Fuck you.”

Claire just smiled, removing her sweater to put the top on. It was practically see-through, and her dark blue bra was totally visible underneath it, but she was having too much fun getting her mind off of things to care. Her breasts were suffocated and pushed up as a result of the tight fabric, which Karen claimed was a very sexy, new look on her. She had to laugh at this.

They forced Karen to throw on a windbreaker outfit, grabbing a Tommy Hilfiger hoodie to go over top of it. Ann was in stitches, telling her that she looked like an extra on _All That_ , and Claire felt so grateful in that moment to have friends like these.

Karen just pulled out a dark Maybelline eyeshadow quad from her discarded shorts, coaxing the sparkly shadow onto both Ann and Claire’s lids, signifying that her vision was almost completed.

“Wait’ll Trent sees you,” Karen told Claire. She managed to convince her to put on a _very tight_ denim skirt as well, in order to finish the outfit. “Like, _damnnn_ , girl. You look smokin’.”

Claire laughed. She did not look “smokin’.” In fact, she looked ridiculously provocative. “This skirt is like a freaking belt.”

Karen shrugged, applying lip gloss in the mirror. “That’s Ann for you.”

“That’s _your_ skirt, Karen,” Ann laughed, trying to noogie her.

“Haha! Ah, fuck.”

Claire stared at herself in the mirror. The mini skirt was riding up her thighs if she so much as breathed, and the dipped low tank top was forcing her chest up. She wondered what Trent would think of her if she came to him wearing even less, like a more understated, lingerie outfit.

“Okay, it’s freezing,” she stated, trying to warm up the goosebumps on her arms.

“That just comes with the territory of dressing sexy,” said Karen with an eye roll. “I’m dying in this windbreaker bullshit.”

She laughed. They all looked insane. With Ann wearing her old jersey and snow pants, Claire in her… very revealing, club-esque outfit, and Karen in whatever the hell concoction she had on, they looked like some kind of next-gen hip-hop artists, ready to take over MTV.

“We need a name!” Claire told them.

“Powerpuff _Gals_ ,” said Karen, like this was some sort of a revolutionary change from the show's original title. “I’m Buttercup ‘cause my hair’s naturally her colour anyway.”

Ann snickered. “Also, you’re a bitch.” 

And Claire couldn’t help but smile along with them. Maybe everything was going to be okay after all. Plus, she’d have to start getting comfortable with accepting her body eventually... right?

The sound of a commotion reverberated from downstairs. It was loud and booming, like a crowd of people going wild.

Karen raised her brows. “Oooh. Bar fight?”

Ann rolled her eyes. “Go check. I’m changing before anyone sees me like this.”

“Same,” said Claire, searching for her sweater through the disastrous piles of clothes that they had all created. Karen discreetly tip-toed to the door, as though anyone downstairs could hear her over the uproar.

And she gasped.

“What?” Ann exclaimed, immediately rushing over to peek through the doorway. Claire tilted her head, frowning while trying to find her top.

“Oh, fuck,” she heard her say.

And something within her just sunk. She had a feeling.

A bad feeling.

Wearily, she walked over to where they stood. Karen tried slamming the door shut, but it was too late. Claire inhaled sharply when she peered over it.

No.

She wildly ducked underneath Karen’s arm, panicking, leaving Ann’s room to run down the stairs of the inn. She took the steps two at a time without even thinking. It was cold.

It was so fucking cold.

* * *

“I think you were wrong,” he says, after Gray has said nothing. He puts his wine down with a loud clink, its sound vibrating against the tiled counter. He takes a step closer as Gray just continues drinking from his glass, the cognac eliciting a burning pain from the back of his throat. But he needs this drink, he missed drinking and he fucking requires it. Doug stands behind the bar, polishing an empty glass with worried eyes. The inn is bustling tonight; people are talking and laughing about. They all seem so far away though, their chatter a remote noise in the background’s distance.

“I think she lied.”

The glass stops before it touches Gray’s lips. He waits, but the rage inside of him has already built itself up.

It’s about to boil over.

“Her pussy wasn’t that tight last night.”

And he extends out a skimpy piece of purple fabric, holding it right under Gray’s nose.

Trent’s words make it feel as though all of the air has been forcibly removed from the room.

His mind is swimming with thoughts, with doubts, with everything, but he isn’t even thinking coherently right now. Gray grabs the fabric from him, and it’s underwear. It’s fucking underwear… _it’s her underwear?_ He clutches it in his hand, shaky fist balled up tightly.

And he effectively delivers a sucker punch right to the edge of Trent’s jaw. 

A girl screams from far away, but it’s all the edge of a distant blur for him now. He keeps going.

He can’t stop.

 _“YOU SICK FUCK,"_ Gray shouts.

He can hear someone hollering, but then his ears are ringing and there isn’t much more after that. He drags his fist back, then slams it into Trent’s nose, a glorious cracking sound eliciting. _Fucking glorious._

Trent wobbles, his fingers instinctively reaching to his gushing red nose in horror. Whether he expected two punches in a row like that, Gray’s not sure, but regardless, the pain written across his face is immense. The townsfolk gather out of their seats, watching in shock at what is transpiring before them.

_Tonight’s dinner is being interrupted by an impromptu MMA fight right before your very eyes, folks._

Trent simply stares down at the blood on his fingers like he’s in a trance, before screaming, lunging at Gray as he tries to punch him back sloppily. Gray maneuvers his head away from Trent’s blows, until the doctor grabs the bottom of his wine glass from the counter behind him, shattering it across the back of Gray’s skull.

He’s a dirty fighter, that fucker. Gray shakes the glass out of his hair, the room fully spinning at this point. He wobbles, trying his best to stay steady, before falling to the ground. Trent looms over him, clutching the broken piece of the bottom of the wine glass, but Gray manages to get himself up like he’s always done, rising slowly, fighting with everything left in him.

It really doesn’t take much. Despite being roaring, piss-drunk, and despite the fact that Gray can feel the blood trickling from the back of his head, this is long fucking overdue. And he’s not going down without a fight, without making Trent suffer the way that he’s been suffering. He doesn’t care if it’s fucked up to say; he’s glad that all of this is happening.

Gray shoves him back to the floor and begins wailing on him. He claws, punches, goes to town on Trent’s stupid fucking pretty boy face. Surprisingly, he actually tries putting up a fight, but slowly begins to give up, weakly taking every single punch that Gray throws at him with wrecked groans. The blood from his mouth splatters everywhere, and his skin swells, bruises reddening instantly at the surface.

Gray hears Doug run out in a panic to get Harris, listens to a series of strangled noises that can only be from his own grandfather amongst everyone else in the crowd. Someone is begging him to stop—Manna? Another cries out that Gray is going to kill Trent if he keeps going—Jeff? He can smell Cliff’s cologne, or is it Rick's? Whoever it is pulls on his shirt to get him off of Trent, but it’s no use, because Gray just shoves them away with his shoulder, continuing on as he rolls with the punches.

Ha.

He just keeps going.

And going.

And fucking _going_. 

Someone gasps, and another person cries out again. The sounds could be from far away, or from an inch behind him, Gray isn’t sure.

He doesn’t even stop himself when she runs out in front of him.

Tells himself that he’s just not seeing straight.

Even accidentally almost catches her in the crossfire.

_No._

The second that he hears her broken voice, his fists come to a screeching halt.

“GRAY, STOP IT!!” Claire screams, holding her arms out in front of Trent. She desperately tries elbowing him off, and from the shock of it all, Gray releases him immediately. The back of his head falls to the floor, a groan exiting out of his bloodied mouth. Upon drunkenly surveying the damage, he’s got a fat lip split in five different places, a broken nose no doubt, dislocated jaw maybe—?

“WHAT… WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” she screeches, her words shrill and high-pitched.

No; it isn’t what it looks like. 

… It’s exactly what it looks like.

“Blondie,” Gray mumbles, sitting back on his knees. The adrenaline is slowly wearing itself out, the room goes all fuzzy, blurry, hazy; he feels like he needs to empty his stomach outside. He tries to maintain an upright, straight composure, but he’s tilting beyond belief right now.

She’s here though. She’ll realize, she’ll know. 

She didn’t fuck him… did she?

“DON’T,” Claire snaps at him, when Gray tries reaching for her. She weakly lifts Trent's head into her lap, but he just softly groans. His whole face is swollen, black, blue and a bloody fucking mess. The entirety of his nose looks crooked, and Gray wonders if you can break that bone clean, or shatter it into a million different pieces.

Her eyes shoot out daggers at him. “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO HIM?!” she demands, tone wavering and breaking.

Gray has nothing to say though, no response that would suffice the question. What’s he supposed to answer with: that he kicked the fuck out of her boyfriend in front of the whole town?

When he stays silent, Claire just starts to whimper, crying as she holds her bloodied, mangled boyfriend in her arms. He’s breathing, but only shallowly.

Gray touches her bare arm, but she jerks it back, eyes blazing. 

“GET OUT.”

He frowns. “Listen-"

“NO.” And Claire stares down at his split fists in horror, a jagged breath exhaling from her body. She grabs the purple fabric that he didn’t even realize was still balled up in his fists, her cheeks burning and her eyes flaming. “WHY do you HAVE THIS?!”

_Fuck._

This looks bad. This looks so bad.

“That wasn’t me,” says Gray, in a grating voice that he didn’t even know he possessed. He points an unstable finger to a hardly-conscious Trent. “That was _him_.”

“YOU LIAR!” Claire pushes at his chest, screaming and crying. “Why the hell do you have my underwear?!”

He stares at her, and amidst his drunken headache, realizes in that moment that she’ll never listen. She’ll never understand, she’s blinded by love.

Those two made their bed, and now they can goddamn lie in it.

“You let him fuck you?” Gray snaps instead.

If it’s possible, Claire’s cheeks flame even more. She tries to keep her angry demeanor up, but it’s wavering, and she looks afraid now. Fucking afraid. “W-what?”

He glares at her, his head throbbing while he makes out the whole picture in front of him. As far as he’s concerned right now, in his inebriated mind, this isn’t Claire anymore. She’s changed; this is someone else entirely different.

The chick in front of him’s got on pounds and pounds of heavy, caked eye makeup, wearing a top which shows off her tits in full display, and a skirt that leaves zero to the imagination. It’s so, ridiculously short, that when she’s kneeling on the ground like this, he can see the white, cotton panties she’s wearing between her legs.

She looks like all of the girls who were willing to “put-out” for him.

And Gray regrets the words as soon as they escape his lips. Even in this drunken state, he knows that they aren’t true; but he says them anyway because he really is human garbage. “I should’ve known you were easy.”

She stares at him, stunned, as though he’s just slapped her. Her mouth drops into a little _o_ , and it’s like the both of them are suddenly fully aware that it’s not just them two alone right now. The whole town is around them, crowding, gawking as this entire freakshow unfolds. Claire’s breathing goes all heavy as she looks around the room, seeing the judgmental faces upon faces staring back at her. Her cheeks are fully red now, and her eyes instantly well up with tears.

Ann’s expression sticks out in the crowd, evident and horrified. She’s looking at him the way that she did when he told Claire off, the morning after they’d been caught by her together.

Claire’s eyes go all red-rimmed, her lower lip quivering as hatred and pain sear throughout her vision. He’s embarrassed her, he’s held something against her that only she revealed to him from her yearbook, and now he’s labelled her as a whore in front of the entire town, even though she’s the farthest thing from that. The tears start rolling down her cheeks in heavy track marks as she balls the silky, purple fabric into her hands, pushing at his chest. “F-fuck you, Gray!!”

And through his foggy, drunken mind, _this_ is how he sobers up to know that he royally _fucked_ it all up. Hearing her swear at him like this, curse him and cuss him the fuck out… shit, he deserves way worse, but this is just how he knows that they’ve both passed the point of no return.

If Claire wants to have sex with her boyfriend, then why is it any of Gray’s business? Why has he stuck his nose where it doesn’t belong, why should he care, why is he even mad?

Because Trent came here to brag about it, to gloat and shove her thong in his face, to have Gray react like an animal in front of everyone; his way of making sure that he really is out of her life for good.

Claire is screaming at Gray incoherently, pushing his chest away from her. His posture staggers, but she just keeps hitting at his chest again and again.

“GO FUCK YOURSELF!!” she shrieks, clawing at him. He stares at her, just stares. And no one tries to pull her away either. The townsfolk watch in dismayed shock.

“YOU’RE OUT OF CONTROL.” Claire's voice is devastatingly harsh. She breaks with every syllable, and he can’t believe how bad he’s let himself hurt her.

Gray knits his brow, but even that causes pain. He’s suddenly very aware to the gash that the wine glass shattering against his head must have caused.

“Blondie, you have no idea... What he did—”

“Don’t touch me!” she sobs, when he seizes her hands from hitting him again. It's not like it hurts, but she's hysterical and he's trying to get her to stop. She jerks her arms back as Trent groans softly in her lap. Looking down at him worriedly, she snaps her attention back to Gray, eyes raging. As Doug quickly returns, he steps in to hoist her boyfriend up in his arms like a limp rag doll, readying him for the clinic. Claire points at Trent, tears streaming down her face as the black from her makeup mixes with them. “Stay away from him, Gray. Stay away from me, stay the FUCK away from us.”

“Claire—”

“I hate you,” Claire chokes out, hunching her back over. She buries her face in her hands, heaving racking sobs. “I fucking hate you.”

Karen runs to her, toward the middle of the floor with Ann in tow. He rises slowly, feeling someone touching his shoulder amidst all of the commotion from the town. For a second, he thinks that it’s Officer Harris, but it’s just his grandfather, pulling him away from it all through the crowd.

And Gray just complacently follows, walks with him back to Mineral Blacksmith, where he can pretend that all of this is some kind of a sick dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone reading Trent's beating vs. the aftermath of Trent's beating 
> 
> Okay, now that everything's out of the way, Happy New Year ya'll 😁 I hope 2021 is all of your best years yet :)
> 
> These two chapters were extremely difficult for me to write, and also, they were actually one of the very first parts to my story that I had outlined. The sexual assault is honestly disturbing to read, but as I wrote it, it felt like I myself was making sense of it in a way, if _that_ makes any sense. The shock and pain that Claire has experienced from it all, the way that she blames herself, how she feels like she lost a part of her and just slowly forces herself to accept it is really all too real for some victims. If this is triggering for you to read, then I completely, totally understand.
> 
> Lots to unpack here. First of all, hopefully I conveyed it okay enough that Trent is lying about any kind of abuse that he experienced from his family, and just made this up to gaslight Claire as per usual. I didn't get into his perspective for this part, and if I did I would have made that clearer, but I hope that it translated! True POS, stg.
> 
> Remember Karen told everyone in "The Funeral" chapter that she had bought a kind of underwear for Claire? And what tf did Trent slip Doug?? And what's the mystery behind Mary's family and Ann's late mother's feud???? STAY TUNED 🤐 I'm hoping I can get another chapter out soon to try and give ya'll answers to these questions. I'm hoping that some things are being pieced together slowly, but if you ever need any clarification on anything, please ask! I'll see if I can break down stuff without giving too much away, in case I was just not clear enough in the first place :-)
> 
> Also, excuse Ann and Karen's banter. I don't use the term "sluts" and "whores" in real life, like c'mon people it's 2021, but in the 2000's, I feel like it was so commonly used. They're just teasing one another like this though haha.  
> A WOMAN CAN DRESS HOW SHE WANTS AND IT DOESN'T MEAN JACK SHIT TO HER CHARACTER, SO ALSO PLZ DON'T THINK THAT I AGREE WITH GRAY AT ALL EITHER! Had to get that out of the way, alrighty then we can proceed.
> 
> I'm really glad that we got to see Mary again! Haven't written her in awhile. Not so glad at Gray's toxic masculinity, not so happy that Claire couldn't just enjoy a night out with her friends. And Trent... oh Trent. This ass-whooping was a LONG time fkn coming, just keep reading if you're down my dudes
> 
> Would love to hear all of your thoughts, and again, if this was difficult to read, then I completely understand. I just wanted to say that I really, really love you guys, and I appreciate you sticking around <3 Every time I get a comment on this fic, my heart feels so happy like I can't even begin to explain how much it means to me 😭🥺❤️ Thank you for following this story, and for all of the wonderful feedback and reviews and conversations that we've had together in 2020. I can't wait to keep going :-) While last year was rough, I am cheersing to a better 2021 💕
> 
> Sidenote: I do this thing every year where I see how long it takes me in the new year to cry, like how many days of January I can go until I have my first cry I guess? LOL, and I watched Pixar's Soul last night........ so I guess I made it until the night of January 1st. I literally could not stop sobbing at that film, it was so beautiful and I highly recommend it :')
> 
> K I'm done peace <3


	39. The Point of No Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of confrontations erupt around Mineral Town, some of which there is no going back from.

“Says here you’re banned from all _Target_ franchises in the state of Illinois?” Harris looks up from Gray’s file for a moment, then averts his gaze back down. He scans the document again, before sighing, placing the thick papers in a messy pile on the table in front of him. His deep forehead lines crease as he settles back into his chair. “How’d you manage that one?”

Gray eventually offers him a tired shrug, because he’s simply loopy as fuck right now. His head surprisingly isn’t throbbing as much anymore, likely as a result of all the Vicodin that he’s been given.

_Like father, like son._

He’s basically Doctor Gregory House, minus the limp and the whole medical degree thing. But the hate for people? Oh yeah, he’s got that.

“You’re not gonna talk?” asks Harris.

“Not much to say,” Gray mutters, rubbing his arm as he sinks back further into his seat. He returned a half hour ago from Elli catatonically stapling his head gash shut—which fucking hurt, by the way. She had mumbled something about Hardy arriving shortly, no doubt to tend to his precious prodigy’s wounds by now.

Harris sighs again, reaching into his breast pocket to surprisingly pull out a packet of _Marlboro_. He removes one for himself, gesturing the remaining cigarettes toward Gray. “You smoke?”

Gray’s not stupid; he knows this is just a way of getting him to relax so that he’ll talk. He hasn’t smoked in years, but he does still keep a lighter with him, almost like a reminder of his past life.

After his mom got diagnosed, apparently he came to a realization that he didn’t want to go out like _that_. He didn’t want a similar kind of uncontrolled cell growth in his lungs, not after he saw what it did to her brain.

Plus, cigarettes were stupidly expensive. If he wanted to kill himself, he’d find a faster, quicker, and cheaper way.

But none of that really matters anymore, does it?

Gray selects a cigarette and puts it between his lips, leaning his body in so that Harris can light it for him after lighting his own. Of course, his grandfather (who’s pretending not to listen by his work desk) has something to say about all this.

“Elli told you this morning to avoid nicotine because it could cause blood clots with your injury, in addition to all the pain meds you’re on,” Saibara scolds. “Christ, Grayson.”

Gray stares up at him, before taking a very long drag of his cigarette. There’s no word to describe the nicotine entering his system other than _nice._ It’s just a nice little buzz, one that he missed feeling amongst all the other highs he’s spent chasing after.

“You don’t think the shit that we breathe in from all of this welding ain’t just as bad?” Gray remarks.

“Oh, ‘cause you’ve been welding lately." His grandfather scoffs.

He shrugs again, taking another puff. “Would’ve been, if you didn’t throw me out.”

Saibara opens his mouth to respond with something back, before shaking his head in defeat. They haven’t spoken in weeks, but it’s a good thing that their first way of addressing one another is through arguing—Gray’s personal favourite thing to do.

Sleeping back here is awkward enough to say the least. He just really misses Claire’s lumpy couch.

“Please, Saibara,” says Harris, taking a puff from his own cigarette. “I gotta talk to your grandson in private. I’ll come back to speak with you later.”

His grandfather just stares at the two of them, before begrudgingly grabbing his cane and making his way into his bedroom.

The door doesn’t close shut fully though, so he’s definitely still listening in on their conversation.

“Injury, eh?” Harris drums his sausage-like fingers on the table. An old kitchen lamp casts a dim light over them, as though they've both found themselves in one of those cliché cop-interrogation scenes. But it’s just because that lightbulb is on its last leg, and badly needs to be replaced. “How’d you get that?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know,” Gray says, tapping the ash from his cigarette onto his file before him. Harris looks down at it, scowling.

“I’d like to get down to the bottom of why you beat our town’s medical doctor to a bloody pulp,” he says sharply.

“Deserved it.”

“‘No remorse for actions.’ I’ll make a note of that.”

“I’m not fuckin’ sorry,” snaps Gray. His pale blue eyes cut into Harris. “Jesus Christ, do you even know what he did? He fuckin’ shoved Claire’s underwear in my goddamn face.”

“Unfortunately, Doug, our only other witness, could not confirm that.”

 _Bull—fucking—shit_. Why isn’t Doug talking? He _clearly_ saw. Now Gray’s gotta go and figure shit out with _him_ , so that he can help clear his name as a goddamn pervert.

This is in addition to all the other shit that’s on his list of needing fixing.

“And regardless, Grayson, you cannot go and beat people up around town just ‘cause you got a problem with them,” Harris scolds.

“Fuck off,” says Gray, readying himself to stand up so that he can leave. “I don’t got time for this.”

Harris glares at him. “Sit back down _now_. You’re at risk for facing some pretty heavy charges,” he warns. His beady little eyes, hook nose, and handlebar moustache are pissing Gray the hell off just to look at right now, but he decides to comply anyway when he hears Saibara’s cane kick at the door. “I don’t know if you know this, but fighting in public is illegal.”

“So is a fucking guy in his late-twenties dating a goddamn minor,” Gray says bitterly, after inhaling another stream of smoke.

Harris takes a seat back, the end of his cigarette burning. “Claire is eighteen now, and from what I’ve gathered, the two of them seem to be in a serious, committed relationship.”

“Should’ve fuckin’ clocked it from the start. He did something to her,” Gray mutters. “The night of the festival. I know he did.”

“You of all people is saying that? Really, Gray?” Harris frowns, his deep, 30-something-year-old smile lines creasing into his round face. He straightens up the top of his police cap, mouth settling in disappointment.

Gray stares at him, swallowing, before looking out the kitchen window, taking another drag of his cigarette. The nicotine is burning in his nostrils and lungs, but he’s convinced that it’s the only thing (along with the Vicodin) that’s actually making shit bearable right now.

Even if Claire fuckin' hates smoking.

But that doesn’t really matter anymore either, huh?

Thinking about her just makes him remember what he _did_ to her, and then he’s feeling sick to his stomach all over again. Sorry doesn’t even begin to cut it. He can’t believe that he said all of those things that he said. He was piss drunk and angry at her for nothing—she doesn’t deserve shit like that, and he fucking hates himself for all the problems that he caused for her.

Still hates Trent more, though. That goddamn fucking bastard.

“She was seventeen-years-old when she met him,” says Gray. “He was like, twenty-five.” He crosses his arms, cigarette lingering between his index and middle finger. Taking a longer puff this time, he stares at Harris incredulously. “How the fuck do you not see a problem with that?”

“The age of consent in Delaware is sixteen—”

“That’s fucking bullshit, Harris, ‘nd you know it.”

“It’s not bullshit, it’s the law.”

“You don’t see a problem with that? The fuck’s the difference if she’s sixteen, or seventeen, or eighteen? What’s a damn-near thirty-year-old doing with a girl as young as that?”

Harris shakes his head at him, like Gray isn’t making a good friggin’ point right now. “You got a problem with it because of your own feelings for her, or whatnot, and—”

“I got a problem with it ‘cause it’s _fucked_.”

“You do not get to decide on Claire’s behalf if—”

“You _don’t_ got a problem with it ‘cause your own dad likes ‘em young, too. ‘Member when he ‘accidentally’ grabbed that pop star tourist’s ass, the one from the Sunshine Islands, like two Harvest festivals ago? How the fuck do you just—”

Harris grabs his shirt from across the table with his free hand, nostrils flaring beneath his thick brown moustache. “Listen here, you little punk. You’re facing charges of assault and fucking battery, not to mention disturbing the peace, so I wouldn’t be talking about other goddamn people right now.”

Gray glares at him, unfazed, before Harris releases his hand, heaving in a deep breath. “You could have killed him.”

“Y’know, I wish I fucking did,” says Gray, not at all perturbed from the altercation. He just keeps smoking, complacently numb to everything around him. No wonder his dad went with Vicodin as his drug of choice.

Harris chuckles humorlessly. “Probably shouldn’t be telling a cop that.”

“It is what it is.”

“Doctor Trent’s got a grade 3 concussion right now, and when he wakes up, I can almost guarantee that he’s gonna be pressing charges against your sorry-ass,” says Harris, flicking the butt end of his cigarette into the trash bin next to him. “You’re in the wrong here.”

“You don’t use a weapon in a goddamn bar fight.” He points to the back of his head, where his matted, bloody hair still clings together. Despite the medication that he’s on, the gash is still _throbbing_ nonetheless _._ He can’t believe Trent shattered a wine glass over his head, but what’s more unbelievable is the fact that Gray's adrenaline kept him going for as long as it did. “You fight with your fists and you fight fucking fair.”

“No,” says Harris tiredly, grabbing Gray’s file to dust the cigarette ash off of it. He gathers his briefcase in his hands, readying to leave, like this interrogation has been a hopeless case. “You don’t fight at all.”

* * *

She had asked Karen to come with her to church, and while her friend initially told her to skip it for the day, for the week even, she eventually agreed to accompanying her nonetheless. Waiting around for an answer from the clinic on Trent’s condition was doing Claire zero good; she just wanted to calm down and pray in the same ways that she had always grown up doing.

“Did you hear from Ann at all?” Claire asks wearily, on the way there. She’s wearing sweats, with a thick green hoodie underneath her jacket right now. This isn't exactly church attire, but she figures that she needs to cover up for the rest of her days now.

And she’s still as seething mad as she was last night, by the way.

Karen frowns, her camel-coloured _Timberland_ boots trudging forward through the frozen snow. None of the pathways have been shovelled yet, resulting in a slippery, icy mess before them. “Doug wouldn’t even let me into her room. I feel like something’s up.”

_Yeah, something is definitely freaking up._

Claire just stares straight ahead, allowing her fists to clench and then unclench beneath her gloves. A small sliver of her doesn’t even want to feel at peace from Sunday morning mass right now. Her spiteful side would prefer to stay stuck between raging mad, and crying every other second—even though this has proven to be doing her zero good.

“Karen?” she mumbles, as they both use the handrail to climb the glassy steps of the church.

Karen worriedly looks over at her, stopping in her tracks as her hand freezes on the church’s door handle. Claire notes that her nails are a vibrant marigold shade. It seems almost ridiculous to even look at a colour as bright and as cheerful as that right now.

“You okay, kid?” Karen asks, concernment filling her voice. “We really don’t have to do this.”

Claire's lower lip quivers, as a stray tear spills down her cheek for what seems like the hundredth time today. Karen just reaches over and wipes it with her thumb, offering her a small smile.

“We all love ya, y’know. Everything’s gonna work out,” she says reassuringly. "I promise."

“I didn’t sleep with Trent,” Claire whispers, a part of her feeling broken. Maybe all of her is broken. There just aren’t any words right now to properly convey her torn spirit. “I didn’t.”

Karen pauses, before simply nodding and squeezing her hand. “Claire, you don’t gotta tell me nothin’, alright? You don’t owe anybody an explanation on what you do, or don’t do with your life. You could secretly be an ex-porn star and I wouldn’t give a single shit.”

Claire tries to weakly smile back, but it’s pathetic and it just hurts her face. Her skin has been rubbed raw from crying all night. She decides to squeeze Karen's hand back, in an attempt to try and convince herself that she believes her. “Okay. Just know… that I didn’t.”

She nods again, before swinging the door to the church open.

And Claire can instantly feel every stinging set of eyes on them, on _her_. The townsfolk turn their heads in sync, gaping like a school of fish out of water.

She suddenly feels very small. This is a bad idea and she wants to leave right now.

Carter at the front simply waves at the two of them, like nothing has been disrupted in life at all.

_... If only that were the case._

“Oh, dear,” Anna murmurs, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Good thing she’s covered herself up today.”

Claire’s toes curl in anger beneath her boots. She wishes that she could just disappear into thin air and pretend like she doesn’t exist for a minute, effective immediately.

Karen angrily glares around the hostile room, making a face. “What the hell are you all looking at? Why don’t you take a picture, it’ll fucking last longer.”

Carter’s arm slowly drops, his smile fading.

Claire just squeezes Karen’s hand tighter.

“No, honestly, all of you get out of your fucking glass houses and quit being assholes,” snaps Karen. “Why’re you condemning the person who was wronged last night?”

“Karen—” Sasha begins, mortified. Karen stops her, palm outstretched flatly.

“I mean it. And you know, it’s funny how two years ago, Kai got dared to go streaking around town, and he only got a slap on the wrist for it. Some people even thought it was funny! And like, everyone still continued eating at the Snack Shack. No one said shit, and _no one_ sure as hell shamed him for it. But the second you are all faced with a _female_ , who didn’t even _do_ anything… like, it boggles my fucking mind—”

“Kare,” Claire says weakly. “You’re screaming.” She has nothing left in her. Going out in public really _was_ a terrible idea. Clearly, not even church is safe anymore.

“Well, I’m pissed!” Karen huffs, removing her faux fur-trimmed hat. Frays of her highlighted hair cling to it with static.

“Karen,” Carter says at the front, his tone careful yet stern. “I counted six swear words that came out of your mouth in the last minute. Please… _please_ , you need to refrain from doing so in the house of God, or I will have to ask you to leave.”

She purses her lips and scoffs, before walking with Claire to Old Man Barley’s pew near the back.

At least they’ll be spared from the gossip when seated here.

_... Right?_

“Just remember what I said, all of you,” she warns.

Sasha looks at her daughter with a mortified-yet-unsurprised expression on her face. Manna gently glances over at them, before dipping her head low, sighing.

Claire doesn’t even know what to think right now. It feels like that scene in _A Walk to Remember_ , where the virginal, religious Jamie gets slut-shamed for literally _nothing_ in the middle of her school cafeteria.

What it really feels like is her being broken and put back together all wrong.

“Women are required to be more prim and proper,” says Anna, under her breath. It’s dead quiet, though, so the whole church can’t help but hear her. “This is simply a fact.”

Mary looks over at her mother next to her, side profile displaying sheer and utter horror.

Claire glares sharply. Her eyes feel like cutting knives. “Shut up,” she finds herself snapping.

The room goes completely silent once again, the tension in the air thick and unwelcoming. Claire relives the feeling of any and all eyes on her… not that they had left in the first place, of course, but the townsfolks’ stares are burning into her, and she just wants to cry.

Where did that outburst even come from? Apparently, she’s not just a no-good tramp, she’s one who disrupts mass now, too.

Claire didn’t even ask for any of this… can’t she just go to church in peace? She finds comfort in squeezing her hands into fists, the gloved fabric preventing her nails from digging into her palm’s delicate skin.

Anna turns her head over her shoulder to give Claire a pitying glance, her black, permed bob swaying as her nose remains high in the air. “I’m going to pretend as though I didn’t hear that. Everyone makes mistakes, Claire, and as long as you repent—”

“Mother,” Mary hisses.

Karen just scoffs. “Anna, fuck off with that shit, will ya? Your husband is like, a human dispensary around town. Where else do you think I get my weed from?”

A few people gasp. This causes Anna’s nostrils to flare, as her nonchalant demeanor is evidently ruined. The corner of Mary’s mouth twitches like she’s fighting the urge not to laugh.

Although Claire is not going to abruptly leave church now that Carter has seen her, she still wants to go home. She wants to crawl under her covers while mindlessly flipping through her television channels, until the clinic calls to let her know that Trent has woken up.

Carter frantically chimes the bell to indicate that mass is starting, his voice coming out loud and booming on his microphone. There’s no way that he didn’t hear all of these little outbursts, because he’s looking around the entire room with disappointment scribbled all over his face. He chooses not to address any of the drama, though.

“Are there any special intentions for today’s mass?” he asks, after exhaling a deep and calming breath. This is his attempt to retaining whatever sliver of peace is left in the air.

“My Aja,” says Duke quietly. Manna squishes his arm next to him comfortingly.

Carter nods. “Of course.”

Anna’s jaw clenches ahead of her as she makes a scoffing noise. Manna just turns around to shoot her a glare.

It really is like _Days of our Lives_ up in here.

“Doctor Trent,” Anna chimes in, and a couple of voices concur with her on this. Claire can only nod in agreement, her eyes glazing over at the stained-glass window before her. She’s didn't sleep at all last night and she's exhausted—the purples and blues and greens of the design are all bleeding into one another.

“Gray,” says Manna. “I would like us all to say a prayer for Gray.”

There is no silent, thick tension in the room this time; her request causes a _goddamn_ uproar. Claire can’t even believe her ears. She’s never going to pray for that asshole again—this sounds bad right now, but she’s so angry that she freaking means it.

“For Gray?!” Karen’s voice is shrill. She stands up from her seat, her wet boots making a squeaking noise on the ground. “Are you joking, Manna?”

“Karen, God’s sake sit down!” says Sasha at the front, rubbing her temples.

Carter frowns, clutching his Bible as he holds his hands out. “Let’s all just settle down—”

“He needs salvation,” Manna argues back at her. “He’s a broken young man who—”

“Who beat up my fiancé,” Claire snaps, cutting her off. She’s always loved Manna, but right now, she’s grade-A pissed at everybody around her.

The townsfolk stare. Even Carter looks to be without words.

“I knew I saw a ring on her finger last night!” exclaims Won, under his breath.

Claire wants to shrink back in her seat, to disappear, to forget the way that everyone stared at her last night, the same way they're all staring at her now. Forget how they all changed their minds about her in an instant, because of the way she looked and the words that some jerk off decided to use.

But she can’t do any of that. She spoke her words, she committed to them, and similar to Gray, she cannot take them back.

So, instead, Claire slowly removes her gloves, peeling them off of her fingers even though she’s trembling hard right now. She holds up her left hand for everyone to see, pointing to the diamond ring that rests on her fourth finger. Manna audibly gasps.

So much for a planned announcement.

“Trent and I are engaged. And as far as I’m concerned,” Claire says bitterly, dropping her hand to cross her arms over her chest. She leans her back against the pew, scowling. The townsfolk are looking at her in the same way they looked at her when she was so scantily-clad last night—she feels like Britney Spears on full display for the paparazzi right now, but she’s setting the goddamn record straight for anyone that doubts her. “Gray can… piss off.”

She’s also not about to swear in church, no way in H-E-double hockey sticks.

“I knew about it first,” says Barley next to her, grabbing Claire’s arm to wave it around as she stares at him in disbelief. “That’s what the whippersnapper dentist told me!”

“Dentist?” groans Karen.

And this in turn causes its own commotion amongst the town.

* * *

This cannot be happening.

“Daddy,” Ann begs, her voice trembling. “Please just listen.”

Doug clutches the document as it succumbs to a crumpled, torn mess in his hands. He has since thrown out the manila envelope that housed it.

“Why do you have this?” he demands.

She desperately tries reaching for it again, to snatch it away, to prevent his eyes from re-reading and re-reading all that it says, but it’s no use. Her father is a whole foot taller than her; he holds out his burly arm to stop her from even coming close to grabbing it.

Ann drops her chin in defeat, shaking her head and feigning innocence. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I—I don’t know.”

Doug glances down at the document again, before his eyes bore into her own. He’s so calm at the surface that it’s scaring her. Beneath it all, she knows how enraged he must be. “Don’t you lie to me, Ann.”

Embarrassed doesn’t even begin to cover it; she feels violated.

“Daddy, it’s private!” she says desperately, when his eyes scan the paper again. If there’s one thing that she _never_ wanted him to see, it’s her annual STI screening document. “I took that test ages ago. I—I don’t know why it got mailed to you.”

Elli promised to never have it delivered—she always said she’d give Ann a call to pick it up when the results were ready, to avoid bullshit like this. How the hell did it get in her father’s hands?!

Her words make the paper crumble beneath his fingers. Her father’s neck creeps red, indicating just how infuriated he is. He hardly ever gets mad at her; he’s a solid guy, cool to be around 95% of the time.

Just not in the 5% when it comes to stuff like this.

“Why would you need to take this test?” Doug asks, his tone faltering. The anger in his voice is coming out; he’s putting two and two together and it scares the living daylights out of her.

This isn’t some misunderstanding either; it’s got her full name right there, her birthday, the day that she took the test… and everything listed that Elli checked for.

It’s come back all clear, but Ann figures that this notion counts for nothing right now.

She simply trembles, hugging her arms around her body. “Daddy, please. It’s just to be safe.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he mutters.

“I’m not!”

“You’re not pure anymore… is that it?”

His statement holds such impact, like the one line in a movie that’ll guarantee the screenwriter an Academy Award. What the fuck even is pure? Pure is fresh snow on the ground, a flower bud blooming, an untouched diamond. Pure is _not_ something that’s supposed to be used when discussing people.

Especially not exclusively for one fucking gender of people.

This is something that only girls have to be concerned about, to keep themselves intact for their future husbands while said future potential husbands can run around and not have to worry about jack shit.

It’s not fair.

Ann can’t even look at him now. Staring down at the floor, tears begin to blur her vision as a sob escapes her throat. “Dad—”

“I can’t believe this,” says Doug bitterly, half to himself, half to her.

“I haven’t been for a long time!” Ann snaps through her tears. He glowers at her, and for a second, she thinks that he’s going to strike her. But his grip just loosens on the paper, and she manages to grab it out of his hands to crumple it up in her own.

She had taken this test _weeks_ ago; she and Gray always used protection, but before him, she hadn’t always been super careful. She just wanted to make sure that she was negative, in case things went further with Cliff… and regardless, she doesn’t owe anyone a goddamn explanation for what she does.

“It’s none of your business, Daddy! I took that test to make sure that I was being safe. It doesn’t concern you!”

“Doesn’t concern me?” Doug lets out a laugh, but it’s not a legitimate one—he’s fucking fuming. His body shakes with anger as he turns from her, beginning to slowly walk up the inn’s stairs.

Ann’s heart drops immediately.

“W-where are you going?” she manages to choke out.

Her father takes each step almost leisurely, like he’s deliberately giving whoever he’s about to go after a head start to run. “Gonna go pay that Cliff a visit.”

Her entire respiratory system stops.

“Don’t you dare!” she wails, clamoring after him. She almost takes a face-plant at the bottom steps from how lightning-quick her feet are moving.

“Just gonna have a little talk with him,” says Doug.

“Daddy!” She grabs his arm, pulling as if this will hold him back, but it’s no use.

Jesus, Cliff is only like an inch taller than her, and he’s such a sweet, gentle guy. He’s as good as dead if her father gets his hands on him.

Plus, he’s totally innocent in this too! They haven’t even gone past second base yet, because he’s the one who wanted to wait. Whether all those Biblical talks with Carter had gotten to his head, or he just wasn’t ready, Ann never pried. Because Cliff doesn’t owe anyone a goddamn explanation either.

“Just a chit-chat,” Doug mumbles.

“Daddy, you need to stop,” Ann begs, trying to reach for him again. He jerks his arm back from her, and it nearly causes her to fall flat on her face once more.

Doug’s glare is ice cold. He’s looking at her with such disappointment and disgust that she wants to throw up.

“I’ll kill him,” he snaps.

“You’re not listening, Cliff didn’t do anything!” Ann runs up the stairs ahead of him, stopping a few steps above where Doug is, almost as a way to barricade herself.

“What?” he snaps. “This was all your idea?”

“Daddy, it wasn’t Cliff,” she sobs, gripping the bannister because she doesn’t trust her knees to support her body. “It was never Cliff. It’s—it’s nobody.”

His large hand runs down his face as he shakes his head. “Don’t tell me there’s more men, Ann. Don’t break your old daddy’s heart.”

“This… this isn’t something for you to know!” she cries. “It’s none of your business!”

Doug grabs her shoulders to move her, his grip angry on her skin. “Like I fucking said, I’m just gonna go pay Cliff a visit. That's _all_.”

Ann’s about three seconds away from crumpling down the stairs. She grips the wood harder to keep herself from falling over. “I told you it wasn’t Cliff!”

“Then who was it, Ann?!” he screams.

The fact that he’s now fully lost his temper should scare her, but she’s too busy mourning her privacy, dignity, and self-respect. “Not Cliff, okay? You need to leave him alone, it was no one!”

Her father is about to royally screw up her happiness for her, with the one person that she truly cares about—the most wholesome soul in all of this. Cliff hasn’t done a damn thing wrong; she doesn’t even deserve him, and now he’s about three-seconds away from getting pulverized for no reason.

How can her father think that he can just take control of her life like this?!

“Give me a name then, Ann.” His hands further tighten on her boney shoulders.

“No one,” she sobs again.

“Give me a goddamn fucking name!”

“Not Cliff,” Ann says desperately. She inwardly prays that he’s already left for work by now. “It was never Cliff.”

“Who then?” Doug’s voice breaks a little, and the only critical thought running through her head is that if she were a boy, none of this would be happening at all. She’d be getting high-fives from her father for getting laid, maybe even be given the old _wrap it to tap it_ speech as a form of advice. But because she’s a girl, she has to succumb to him irrationally breaking down over the fact that she’s had a penis inside of her.

It's _not_ fucking fair.

“No one,” she says, too quickly.

“Don’t you lie to me.”

“No one!”

“Give me a f—”

“You don’t know him!”

“Don’t you fucking lie to me.”

“It’s not Cliff,” she sobs again. “So just leave him alone. Please.”

Doug stares at her, before a realization locks in his eyes. He leans against the banister, dragging his hand up to scratch at his red beard like he's lost in a trance. “Lord.”

Ann’s body is quaking. She tries rubbing her sore shoulders, but she’s quivering too hard. “Daddy, drop it. No more. Stop, please. Stop with all of this, alright?”

She watches him inspect a crack in the wood of one of the banister’s pillars, as though it’s the most interesting thing in the world right now. It’s a full minute before he speaks, like he’s trying to muster up the right kind of composure.

“It was the blacksmith,” her father whispers.

Ann’s heart has gone from below her stomach, to thumping beneath her ribcage, to now getting caught in her throat. Her face turns sheet white. “W-what?”

“Gray.”

She widens her eyes, frantically holding her hands out, but she’s still fucking shaking—she cannot for the life of her stop shaking. “N-n-no. No, no, God, no. It wasn’t Gray.”

Doug brings his vision back to her, looking both defeated and irrefutably angry, if this is even possible. “Look me in the eyes and tell me it wasn’t him.”

She drags her cerulean eyes to the same ones that he possess, but she’s crying so hard that she can’t see a damn thing in front of her. It’s like she’s trapped beneath a sheet of ice, gazing up at the blurry world before her. “It wasn’t Gray.”

Her father doesn’t budge. “You’re fucking lying.”

“I’m not!” she weeps, rubbing at her eyes. She can’t fathom this, can’t even pretend to look at him anymore.

“Is that why he came to you the other day?” Doug demands angrily. “Is that what he fucking wanted? His way with you again? Is that why you two were arguing?” He snatches both of her wrists, shaking her like he’s as delirious as she is right now.

“No!” Ann shrieks, trying to unsuccessfully jerk her arms away. Her father’s grip is too strong though, edging on borderline painful territory. “No, no no no. Leave Gray alone, it wasn’t him—”

“Swear off of your mother’s life.”

Ann’s lip trembles. She looks up at him wildly. “Huh?”

Doug grips her harder, his burly hands digging into her fragile, freckled skin. “Swear off her life that you didn’t sleep with him.”

Ann manages to free her arms from him, burying her head in her hands because she’s unable to do anything else. She’s just fucking unable to. Waving her white flag, she flops down at the top step, knees drawn into her chest as she cries.

“You can’t, huh?”

Her voice is muffled. “Daddy—”

“TO YOUR ROOM, NOW!” he snaps, voice booming. “NOW!”

“Leave him alone,” sobs Ann, looking up at him again for a moment. Everything fucking hurts. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’m glad this was brought to my attention,” mutters Doug, taking each step methodically down the stairs. “No, really. I am.”

“Dad—”

He whirls around to her, eyes currently ignited. “Your room, NOW.”

Afraid of disobeying him any further, Ann runs to the door of her bedroom, before hearing her father say: “You’re just like her.”

She doesn’t bother questioning who he’s referring to; she’s too overcome with tears.

* * *

Gray walks without any hesitation toward her farm, boots trudging through the thin layer of ice over the frozen snow. Each step makes a crunching noise in the ground, but it’s not like he’s trying to be quiet and sneak up on her. He just needs to be heard out.

She’s outside with Maggie, currently throwing the last remaining contents of her shipment basket into the bin. The early evening sky settles over both of them, and they spot each other instantly. Maggie even runs toward where he’s standing at the entrance of her farm, while Claire takes a millisecond to lock eyes with him, before abruptly tossing her basket to the side. Wordlessly, she whirls around, storming as far away from him as possible.

He jogs after her, ignoring Maggie—much to her dog’s disappointment. “Claire, wait.”

She’s angrily trudging though the snow, her back still to him with her hands shoved into the pockets of her oversized jacket. That glimpse that he caught of her face is making him relive his fuck-up all over again.

“Please… fuck, please. I need you to listen,” Gray says, as Claire keeps walking. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

She stops dead in her tracks, and he watches her hands remove themselves from her pockets, as her fists clench down to her sides.

“Get. Out,” she mutters through clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I never meant to do that. Christ, I don’t know why I said all those things. I had no right to and I’m so fucking sorry.”

Her hands start to shake, and then her whole body tremors like she’s in a tranced rage. When Claire turns around to finally face him, her expression is unsettling. This is something he’s never seen before: no human being has ever looked this angry. This furious, this upset, this fucking devastated. Her eyelids are scarlet and puffy, as though she’s been crying and then rubbing her sadness away all night.

“Leave right now,” she grits out.

Gray frowns. He tells himself that he loves this girl and then he goes and ruins everything with her. It’s like Ann said: he always fucks a good thing up. “Please, I just—”

“I TOLD YOU TO STAY AWAY FROM ME!” Claire screams, her face already burning red and scrunched up like he’s about to make her cry again.

“Blondie—”

“Don’t you—don’t you dare ‘Blondie’ me, Gray,” she snaps, holding her gloved hand out in front of her. It’s freezing; she’s got no hat on, no scarf, and she’s fucking shaking, but it’s not from the cold. It’s because of him and what he did to her. She looks like she’s trying her best not to break down in front of him, but her voice is cracking nonetheless. She chokes out, “How could you?”

Is she referring to the fact that he basically called her out on the basis of nothing in front of the whole town? The underwear incident that isn’t his fault? Or the fact that he knocked the shit out of her boyfriend?

“Last night, I never meant a goddamn thing. I don’t know why I said that shit, why I did that to you, and I’m sorry for ever—”

“Save it. Cut your bullshit apologies, ‘cause they literally mean nothing to me.” Claire’s enraged glare is fully on Gray right now. She’s looking at him with such hostility, as if he’s some kind of a stranger. Hatred seeps like a hot pool of lava from her eyes.

And she storms away from him again, but he quickly catches up to her.

“I need you to listen to me. You… fuck, Claire, please. I don’t think that about you at all, and I shouldn’t have said something fucked up like that ever, especially not in front of everyone. You got no idea how truly sorry I am.”

“Sorry?” she mimics, like she’s only now fully registering his words. “Sorry for what, Gray? For beating the shit out of…” She swallows hard. “My boyfriend?” Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she looks away for a moment, before returning her tear-streaked glare to him. “For humiliating me? For using something so personal against me?”

Gray stares back at her. He wants to wipe the tears that have gathered in the outer corners of her round eyes, like that day in her bathroom, because who knew comforting another human being could be such a beautiful and intimate act?

But he can’t do any of that though. She won’t even get close to him, and he’s not about to go and touch her.

He just doesn’t even know where to begin.

“I’m sorry for everything that I did to you.”

Claire’s jaw clenches, her teeth gnashing together. “And what about Trent?”

Gray intakes a sharp breath. There’s really no use in pretending. “I’m not sorry for that.”

Maybe this isn’t what she wanted to hear, but he refuses to lie to her anymore.

She exhales through her nostrils, nodding as though she expected a response like this—not surprised in the slightest. “You fucking prick.”

And she storms away from him again. He’s still not used to all the swearing from her.

“Claire—”

She just keeps walking away.

“I’m not gonna lie to you. I’m not fucking sorry for what I did to him,” Gray calls. The cold pinches at his face as the wind picks up and whips itself at the both of them. “And if he did _anything_ to you that night—”

Claire can pretend all she wants that she’s some kind of peacekeeper for Mineral Town, like she’ll walk away from any fight just to keep civility, but either this is bullshit, or he knows exactly how to push her buttons. She whips her body around again reactively.

“You’re not in my life anymore, Gray,” Claire says, her tone so harsh that even Maggie cowers at the sound of it. Her dog ducks herself into the chicken coop. “That means now, you stay the hell out of my business. For good.”

Her words are firm but her voice still breaks all the same. It’s like Gray’s dug out a part of her spirited soul and wounded it. He can’t imagine all the bullshit he put her through like that.

“Blondie,” Gray says, and he watches as the very mention of her nickname brings fresh tears to her eyes. He wants to fucking kick himself for what he did. “You have every right to be mad at me, you can stay mad, I fucking deserve it. I just need you to know I never meant anything I said.”

Claire listens, shaking her head as she covers her gloved hand over her mouth. She stifles a sob that still can’t help but escape her lips. “Why’d you do it?”

And there is no sufficient answer to this.

“… I don’t know.”

She turns her body away from him, wrapping her free hand around her stomach like she’s going to be sick.

What possesses him to do this, Gray doesn’t know: but stupidly, he tries reaching for her.

Claire angrily whirls around again, swiping away the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. The fire in them could have probably evaporated them on their own, though.

“Why did you have my underwear?” she snaps.

His face pales. Jesus, she really does believe that. “Wh—”

“WHY. DID YOU HAVE. MY—“

“I _didn’t_ ,” Gray fumes. “That was your fucking boyfriend. He walked in and showed it to me like a goddamn trophy for getting inside of you.“

Claire’s face burns. He’s still being an insensitive jackass, but he’s so taken aback. He can’t believe that she really thinks he’d do something like that.

“You piece of shit liar. Get out of my face.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t believe me?”

“OF COURSE I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!” Claire screams, exasperated. She looks so small right now—despite the large, hateful presence that she's trying to give off, she's still so tiny, drowning in her oversized coat and waving her short-limbed arms like mad. Gray is towering over her, and in this moment, realizes that he would give anything in the world for things to go back to normal between the two of them. “Everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie.”

But he reckons that they're past the point of normal—it isn't even remotely achievable anymore.

Gray stares at her, like he’s trying to make sense of the girl in front of him. If anything, she’s the one acting like a total stranger.

“Why would I have it?” he asks bitterly.

She falters, but does her best to keep up her composure. Though beneath her mask is a look of uncertainty. “Because you’re sick. Because you don’t respect women, you clearly don’t respect me at all—”

“I swear off your life that I didn’t take it.”

Her eyebrows stay knotted in anger though. “You don’t care if I die then, huh?”

“Huh?”

“If you swear off my life while lying—”

“Jesus Christ, Claire, I’m not lying!” Gray begins to run his hand through his hair, stopping when he forgets that there’s a long, stitched up gash near the back of his head. He winces, sticky blood clinging to the tips of his fingers. “I don’t fuck around with that shit. I told you.”

Her eyes dart down to the blood on his fingertips, before her face twists up at him in disgust. “You’re sick. You… you need serious help.”

“You’ll never see his faults, will you?” Gray mutters. “You’ll just always automatically be on his fucking side.”

“Over yours? Yeah, any day.” As more tears start to reveal themselves from beneath her lids, Claire shifts her gaze away from him. “I need you to go right now.”

“You need to listen to me. I didn’t—”

“Gray, I swear to God, if you don’t leave me alone _right_ now—”

His mind is racing. He can’t keep doing this to her, but he doesn’t want to lose her, but maybe he already did, but he’s sorry for everything, but that probably means nothing right now, but he’s got to stay and make it right because he should have never did what he did in the first place—

“Blondie,” he says softly. He watches as the tears keep rolling down her face. The gust of wind nipping at them probably hurts her with the wetness streaked over her cheeks.

Maybe he should just go.

“Why are you making this so hard?!” Claire manages to sob out. “After everything you did, you can’t just do what I’m asking you to do? You can’t just leave me the hell alone and walk away?!”

Gray stares at her, registering her pain but inexplicably being unable to leave it off like this. Because he figures that if he exits her property without making things right, he’ll likely never see her again.

And as selfish as it is, that’ll kill him.

“I can’t,” Gray says eventually. “I-I don’t want to.”

“It’s not always about what you want,” Claire mumbles tearfully. “It’s not always fucking about you. Sometimes it’s about other people, and what they want, or don’t want—”

And she breaks down.

Jesus fuck, what else happened to her?!

He takes an uneasy step closer, trying to be firm with his words. “Blondie, if he did anything to you, you need to tell me, or tell someone—”

“Get out of my face,” she repeats through ragged breaths. Her knees buckle together, like she’s lost the ability to support herself anymore. “You had no right to do that to him or to me. I love him and… and I don’t regret a thing, so you need to just go.”

Something happened and she’s not saying anything. She’s protecting Trent at every other cost, like they’re fucking married or something. It pisses him the hell off.

“He doesn’t love you, Claire," Gray tells her resentfully. "You gotta leave him, he doesn’t give a shit about you.”

Apparently, this was also the wrong thing to say, because she's positively _blazing_ right now _._ Despite her saddened tears, he's once again the reason her unleashed anger is erupting through. “COMING FROM YOU, WHO DOESN’T GIVE A SINGLE SHIT ABOUT ME?!”

His mouth shifts into a frown because despite this not being true, despite this being the exact opposite of what's really going on, this is what he's shown her. He doesn’t blame her for thinking this to be the case. “I know… I know, you got every right to feel that way. And I know I made you believe that, but fuck, I promise you that’s the farthest thing from the truth. You have no idea… I’ve never told you how much—”

“Stop,” she sobs. “Now. Just stop. I can’t do this anymore. You don’t understand, I have _nothing_ left in me.”

But he doesn't stop. He keeps going, even if it's making things worse for himself, because his nineteen-year-old mind doesn't know how to quit—or fix—anything.

“I should have never called you easy. You—you’re not, Claire, and—”

“ _That’s_ the only thing you feel bad about?!” she spits back. “For shaming me like that?”

“I _never_ should have fucking said that.”

“Yeah, I know you shouldn’t have, you asshole.” Claire whimpers, “You have no idea what you caused.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, meaning every word. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could take it all back.”

“You _can’t_. You’re not even sorry about beating Trent to a bloody pulp—”

He shakes his head and this causes her nostrils to flare further. “You’re right. I’m not sorry. I’m being honest with you… and I should have always been honest with you. I mean, from now on—”

Oh, God.

Claire makes a humorless sound. Against the darkness of her jacket, and the crystal white snow, her skin is almost completely pale. Not in the beautiful, translucent way it always is; it’s like she’s ill and recovering from a sickness.

Her next words make his stomach lurch.

“There is no ‘from now on’, Gray.” She closes her eyes, looking down at the ground before lifting them to his again. And they’re vacant. They're lost and unavailable and empty—fucking empty. “We’re through. We… whatever this was, you’re out of my life.”

He stares at her. “You don’t mean that.”

Even though he knows that she does. Claire’s not one to say things that she doesn’t mean.

She just stares back, looking at him as if there’s nothing there. At all. “I mean that. You made that choice for yourself, this isn’t on me. For no reason, you decided—”

Fuck’s sake.

“It wasn’t for no reason,” Gray snaps.

She stays silent in disbelief.

“It wasn’t for no reason,” he says again, firmly, like he’s even convincing himself of it. What happened to his mom does not qualify as _no reason._

Claire looks like she can’t even believe that he’s fighting with her on this. “Yeah, it was,” she argues back.

“I didn’t wake up one day and just hate him out of the fucking blue.”

“Y'know what, you have issues, Gray,” she says coldly, waving him off. “You have some real issues. You don’t have a valid reason for doing _anything._ ”

“What’s your valid reason for being with him, huh?”

He watches her jaw tighten as she fixes her lips into a stretched line, shaking her head as she looks away from him.

“I never told you,” says Gray, even though she’s still facing away from him. He's spilling his guts—not even as an act of desperation, but to be free from it all. Because really, what does he have to lose anymore? “He was my mother’s doctor. He was the doctor that treated her back in Chicago. The one who let everything slide and he’s the reason that she died.”

Her eyes dart back up at him, like the gears in her head have just run through what he’s told her.

“So, no, Claire, it wasn’t for no reason. There’s a whole fucking list of reasons with that asshole. But that's the main one.”

Her cheek twitches, but she swallows back any kind of surprise well enough. “That’s where your grudge comes from?” she asks, her voice distant.

“Yeah,” he confirms sullenly. “And I’m sorry I never told you.”

She just walks away from him. “So what?”

“'So what?’”

“Medical professionals make mistakes all the time.” Her features are so hardened, eyebrows drawn in as her mouth coils into a tight line. She’s accidentally paralleling his expression when he looks into his own reflection in the mirror. “So what? You can’t blame Trent for dismissing a problem he never considered to be a problem. Why don’t you try getting over it instead of using it as an excuse to be a miserable sonofabitch?”

He stares at her. She can’t be for real. “Are you… are you fucking serious right now?”

“Yeah, I am serious,” Claire says, as callous as he’s ever seen her. He doesn’t know if she’s got on a front right now, or this is just who she’s become as a result of everything. “I don’t really care. You always say ‘she’s a dead woman you never knew, why do you give a shit?’ so really, why should I give a shit?”

“This isn’t you, Claire,” Gray says slowly. “You’re not like this.”

“I am,” she retorts. “I don’t care about anything that has to do with you. You’re so full of excuses... like, just get over yourself and get over everything.”

His eyes scan her face like he’s looking for any shred of her that’s still left. Same freckles, same full lips, same symmetrical nose, but… it can’t be her anymore. This is literally impossible.

“Be heartless like him,” mutters Gray, nodding. “He’s really rubbing off on you.”

“Heartless? Coming from you?” Claire scoffs angrily. “You wanted me to care about your life but I don’t. And you thought that this would change shit, but it really doesn’t. Not after everything you’ve done.”

“You’re not you anymore.”

She drops her poker face, and he sees the pain written all over her with this comment, but she just pretends to shrug it off like it hasn’t affected her at all.

“Get out of my face, Gray.” Her cheeks deepen a scarlet hue, heated and blooming in rage. “Go to hell. You don’t matter to me anymore. And you know what? Maybe you never did.”

He laughs because she's grasping at straws in the same way that he did last night. “You’re so full of shit.”

“I’m not,” Claire fumes. “I hate you and I never want to see you again and I fucking mean all that.”

“Y'know what? Fine." He nods at her with forced toleration. "I don’t give a shit if you don’t accept my apology, or if you never talk to me again.” Gray keeps his vision locked on her, and although she tries to maintain it, she hesitates and has to look away. “That’s your choice, and I swear to God I’ll accept it.”

Claire just shakes her head at him, hugging her arms against her body once more.

“I deserve it, and you deserve better than what I did to you last night, and I get it.” Gray frowns because the mess that he’s made for himself has slowly been unravelled right before his very eyes. He comprehends that he’s lost all that they've ever had, and although it’s a knife to the gut, he doesn’t blame her for removing herself from all of this bullshit. He just needs to be heard out one last time, though. “But I need you to know I would never… fucking disrespect you like that.”

She turns around to face him again, mercilessly shouting: “YOU LITERALLY DID!”

“With the underwear, Claire. I’d never… go into your shit, take it, start showing people—”

Her face is entirely beet red as her teeth clench together. “Enough.”

“That was your fucking boyfriend.”

“You’re a damn liar.”

“I have nothing to lose anymore. I’m not lying to you.”

“Go to hell,” she spits. “Fuck off, go to hell, I don’t care.”

“You’re just trying to hurt me, like what I did to you,” he says, defeated. “So fucking have at it, Claire."

“I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOU. WHAT PART DON’T YOU GET?!” she hollers, screwing her eyes shut tightly. Pressing her lips together, she begins to cry again, silently, and then with gentle force, like a soft whisper. “How could you?”

He hates seeing her like this. He hates being the reason for it more, though. “I was angry, I was wasted… I-I didn’t mean to—”

“Then don’t get wasted,” she chokes out.

Gray stares at her, and it’s sick to admit, but that possibility is not something that’s on the table right now.

She takes note at his hesitation instantly, raising her chin up to his defiantly. Her eyes are still glazed over with fresh tears, but she’s furious. So unbelievably furious. “That’s not an option for you, huh? Don’t pretend like your anger is separate from you, like you have zero control. You _have_ control, you just don’t use it.”

“It’s not that simple,” he mutters.

“No, it is,” she snaps back. “But if you wanna be just like your screwed up dad, congrats, you’re right on his path.”

And this sets him afire. They begin yelling over each other like they’ve always done.

“Don’t talk about my dad if you don’t know shit.”

“You’re disgusting. You had no right to go through my things—”

“Jesus fucking Christ, are you dense?! I DIDN’T.”

“You just make me sick. Like, how someone can be such a horrible person, I can’t even—”

“Listen to me. I told you I’d never—”

“Bullshit.”

“No, not bullshit. But take his side like you always do, that’s clearly working well for you.”

And this bitter statement is what hits her hard.

“YOU’RE LITERALLY NOTHING TO ME, GRAY. I DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT WHAT HAPPENS TO YOU, GOT IT? NOTHING ABOUT YOUR LIFE MATTERS TO ME ANYMORE.”

Claire just gradually swallows, like she didn’t mean for it to come out like that. Regret is scrawled all over her features. Gray is unable to mask the hurt over his own face, but she ignores this, quickly composing herself and shrugging it off, as though her words have held zero impact in the air. Like what she made was a mere weightless statement.

He digs his hands into his pockets. “Whatever, Claire.”

“Just make like your dad,” she mutters, immediately looking like she wishes she had bit back these words too. But her eyes flash and that’s her goal right now: to hurt him.

He tells himself it's not working.

Even though it is.

“And what?” Gray snaps. “Fry my fuckin’ brain? Abandon my family?”

“Leave,” she mutters.

But he says “OD?” at the same time, and this makes her choke back another sob. She shakes her head, scrunching up her face.

“I just want you gone.”

The silence that follows between them is eerie to say the least.

Claire slowly makes her way to her front door, dragging her feet like they're being held down with cinder blocks.

His jaw hardens. Maybe he’s not Gray anymore, but she sure as hell isn’t Claire. “You know why you cling to him?”

She hesitates, but keeps walking like she's unbothered, carefully removing her gloves from inside her jacket pockets as she does. “Shut up.”

“You know why you do whatever he wants?” He gets closer and closer to her.

“Shut _up._ ”

“The reason you can’t go against him?”

She goes to cover her hands over her ears, but hesitates, shoving them both back in her coat. “Enough!”

“And I’m not even fucking joking when I say this.”

Shaking her head, her voice becomes elevated, breaking in all sorts of places. “Stop it.”

“Because your fuckin’ mindset is: ‘I’m gonna let this guy do whatever he wants to me, I’m gonna do _whatever_ I can to keep him ‘cause I’ve got some real fuckin’ daddy issues—’”

_WHAM!_

Her open palm collides with his face, his cheek. Claire has slapped him so hard that her bare hand is shaking, twitching. His face hurts, his head hurts, and her broken expression makes his goddamn fucking heart hurt. It aches, as though someone has stomped and kicked it with cleats, shoving it out of his ribcage like an out of body experience. He’s said the wrong thing again.

But he unfortunately was sober and meant this one.

She can pretend like she doesn’t, but she’s got just as many issues as him.

Gray readjusts his head to face forward after it's been whipped around, rubbing his cheek and staring at her. She keeps her eyes narrowed and fixed on the mark that she’s left on his face, but lets out a small sob when her eyes meet his own painful ones. Her irises are a water blue storm right now, limbal rings darker than he’s ever remembered them to be.

She hastily forces her left, striking hand back into the depths of her pocket.

“Don’t speak for me.” The tears are rolling too quickly down her cheeks, like raindrops streaking down a windowpane during a storm. “Don’t you dare, don’t you ever speak for me again.”

And he says nothing.

Claire just closes her eyes, dips her head low, pushing the door to her house open as she shuts it without ever looking back.

Maggie sits at the front of her chicken coop, like it’s finally safe for her to come out. She tilts her head at him, scampering over to tug on his leg and pull him back.

But there’s an invisible barricade between him and Claire now. It’s comprised of words that have signed and sealed their fate; regret is the outer layer, while the tension, stress, pain, and mourning of what once was lies inside.

It’s over.

Anger and unhappiness slam into him all at once. Their friendship and good moments have been permanently erased from this world with each crumble of their relationship.

And Gray digs his hands in his pockets, effectively fulfilling her wish.

It’s the least that he can do for her at this point.

* * *

You know what he doesn’t need right now? A fucking drink.

But you know what he wants?

You guessed it.

Doug slowly polishes a glass behind the bar, looking up at him for a moment, upon his entrance. Gray goes against the bar counter, watching his grip on the glass tighten in his hand.

“Doug,” he mutters. The smell of liquor burns in his nostrils. “Doug, what the fuck? You saw the doc pull those panties out of his pocket, why the hell’d you tell Harris you didn’t?”

Doug says nothing. He looks up at him again with dark eyes, remaining silent.

Gray’s fuming though. “I’m fuckin’ serious. You should've told him—”

Doug slams the shot glass down, and it shatters against the bar’s tiled countertop. The pieces scatter and soar around it, like a clear, glittering mess. Gray stares down at them in shock, before he feels Doug's fist reach over the bar, clenching around the collar of his shirt.

This is his second confrontation today.

 _Well, third_.

Gray looks down at his knuckles in shock.

And instantly knows something’s up.

“Did you fuck my daughter?” Doug spits out.

It feels like the breath has been forcibly removed from his lungs in an instant. “W-what?”

“Did you fuck my daughter right in my goddamn inn?”

He gasps at Doug, trying to swallow the thick lump down his throat. He’s in pure and utter shock right now. “… No.”

“Don’t you lie to me, boy.”

It’s like Gray’s underwater; everything is in slow-motion around him, and he cannot for the life of him find any air to breathe. No one… this kind of confrontation has _never_ happened to him before. He’s never even met the dads of the girls that he’s fucked.

Besides this one.

“I shared fuckin’ drinks with you,” Doug snaps, his fist tightening against the cotton of Gray’s t-shirt. “I opened up my home to you, I talked to you about—” He stops himself, both disgusted and appalled.

He looks as though he’s getting ready to kill him. His knuckles are cracking like he’s about to.

_How the FUCK did he suddenly figure all this?!_

“Did you fuck my daughter?!” he hollers.

Gray elbows his fist off of him, managing to break away from his grasp. He backs away slowly, like a grizzly bear has suddenly cornered him. Enraged, Doug reaches for another shot glass, throwing it at his head.

He narrowly misses. It explodes into a million little shards, like a star's supernova amongst the night sky.

Gray’s eyes widen further. He needs to fucking hightail it out of there.

“Get the hell offa my property,” Doug snaps, storming out from behind the bar. He starts going after him—Gray honestly half-expected him to emerge with a shotgun in tow. “BEFORE I RIP YOU A GODDAMN NEW ONE.”

He shakes his head, nearly tripping over his own two feet. “Doug, listen—”

“No good like your own daddy,” he says. “And I tried to help you, but…” His voice trails off as he gets closer and closer. Gray backs into the inn’s entrance doors, readying his sprinted departure. He’s as good as dead if Doug gets his hands on him.

“I didn’t see shit. And as far as I’m concerned, you pulled out that goddamn underwear yourself.”

Gray clenches his teeth, escaping out of there in a panic.

And Trent has him in a checkmate.

It’s game fucking over.

* * *

He guesses that it takes five Vicodin to feel numb. Four more than the required daily dosage he’s been prescribed, but it leaves him without any feeling at all. What’s emptier than empty?

He doesn’t know.

Fuck, he’s wasting 'em, and he doubts that he’ll be able to get another prescription anytime soon, but he really needs it right now.

That’s always his go-to excuse for everything.

Gray wonders briefly how many it took his father to get to this point. Combined with the Prozac, was it just a few? Or, did his old man need the whole bottle to feel something, which in turn, would no-doubt render him completely numb. When does the cycle end?

_When you get hooked on something, do you consciously feel what it’s like to lose all feeling?_

Gray is so deprived of any sensation, that he doesn’t even realize he’s completely dozed off in his bed.

These past 24 hours have been both gruelling and long. They're reminiscent of the night his mom died; time seemed to slip in his last moments with her, when he sat at her bedside and helplessly watched her lose her grip on this earth. She told him to be good, to stay out of trouble, to remember the late night milopita she'd make on special occasions. And then she said to both him and his dad that she loved them... and that was it. Just like that, in an instant she was gone. It was after the fact that the hours started to drag, that every minute without her felt exceptionally longer. Having to plan her funeral and wake, figuring out the whole burial situation, watching his dad shove pills down his throat like they were fucking _Tic Tacs_... it was all just so tedious. Exhausting. _Draining._

That's how he feels right now, the exact same way: he's just fucking drained.

Everything that he did to Claire started the problem. Her words are simply what cemented the end of their story into existence.

 _Is this really it?_ The one source of light in his life is gone, and he’s only got himself to blame for it.

No, he tells himself that it’s fine. If they’re done, they’re done. Like he said: she made her bed, and she can go lie in it.

But it’s his fault for being such a dickhead.

And it’s hers for not giving a fuck about anything else other than her boyfriend. It's her fault for choosing to stay with a prick like that.

Gray's mind can't help but wander to deep dish pizzas with Claire, to late nights staying up together when there never seemed to be a shortage of things to talk about. Her genuine smile, her laugh, her sweet perfume: that clear bottle with the pink ribbon design wrapped around it; the one that smells like warm brown sugar and vanilla-caramel mixed with her skin.

Her navy eyes lighting up every time that she’s with him.

The way they only darkened at the sight of him today.

What has he fucking done?

He’s so mad at her, though. Mad at himself, but mad at her all the same. None of Trent's lies bothered her; it's like she still blindly believed him after everything. She was always going to pick him; there was no compelling reason to ever be with someone like Gray over him. Not only just after what he'd done, but in general.

Like Claire said, Gray's nothing to her now. Nothing about his existence even matters anymore.

The worst part of it all is probably the fact that she thinks he took advantage of being alone in her home, like he went through her things like some kind of a sick fuck. Gray's thought about her… obviously, but he’d never in his whole life even _think_ about doing that. Trent probably managed to swipe her panties after he was done having sex with her. 

“Do you know where your grandson harbours all of this hatred from?”

The voice is low but undeniable nonetheless. He can hardly make out how muffled it all sounds from outside his bedroom door.

There’s the faint noise of a lighter clicking, igniting. It’s Officer Harris.

Gray listens to his grandfather sighing. He does that a lot when he’s around; Jesus, he's a goddamn burden to everyone. “He doesn’t get it from his father… Joey was never an angry person… still isn’t. Guess I’m to blame for his temper.”

“No, I mean... why’s he hate Doctor Trent so much? Where does it stem from?”

“Oh... His… well, before his mother, Tina, got sick... she saw a doctor in Chicago. He dismissed her headaches, gave her some pain medication to deal with it, and never bothered with an MRI, despite askin’ him to do something each time she went in... Turns out it was a malignant tumour; and she ended up dying from it here, after Hardy told us that it had metastasized.”

As if Gray wants a reminder of all this right now.

“Why are you telling me this?” Harris asks.

“Her doctor in the city was Doctor Trent,” says Saibara.

There’s a long pause. Gray listens as someone adjusts their seat, the creaking sound of a chair streaking across the old floors eliciting in his eardrums. “… You know this for a fact?”

“That’s what my grandson said.”

“But you have no way of confirming this,” says Harris dubiously.

Gray seethes. _Why the fuck would I lie about something like that?_

“He doesn’t remember his name when they met back in Chicago. But when he filled the position here, Gray recognized him right away.”

“Again, you have no way of confirming whether this is true or not.”

Seriously, if anyone's a fucking liar in this town, it sure as hell isn't Gray. He knew the bastard when he saw him. Sure, he looked different from what he’d remembered: darker hair, slimmer jaw, but it was one hundred percent the same guy. Those empty, blackened eyes were the dead giveaway.

Saibara sighs again deeply, coughing from inhaling the cigarette smoke that’s no doubt being blown toward his face. “I don’t think my grandson would lie about this. Just like he’s not lying about… going through Claire’s things and taking them.”

“Unfortunately, Doug cannot—”

“Yeah, yeah. I already got an earful outta him. He musta found out that Gray slept with his daughter, 'nd that’s why he’s withholding information.”

“Your grandson’s been very busy getting around lately, huh?” Harris comments, ignoring his grandfather's theory.

Saibara coughs again, barely managing through his words. “He wasn’t sleeping with Claire, if that’s what you’re insinuatin’. She's not that kinda girl.”

“Really,” says Harris doubtfully. Is he picturing the way that she was unusually dressed last night? Or, did he catch wind of the horrible things Gray said to her. “They were just living together platonically?”

_There’s that word again._

“I threw him out,” says Saibara absently.

“Ah-huh... and why’d you do that?”

His grandfather doesn’t bother addressing this. “Claire was his friend.”

“She wasn’t two-timing her future husband?”

Gray furrows his brow. Does Harris even know what he’s talking about right now?

“You leave her alone. She’s a sweet girl, she doesn’t got a bad bone in her body.”

Just a few in her hand that whacked him across the face.

But he knows that he deserved that.

“I’m tryna get the full picture here," says Harris. "Your grandson’s jealous, he wanted more from Claire. She didn’t reciprocate these feelings, and he thought beating up her fiancé would give him the upper hand.”

Wait.

_… Fiancé?_

Has he heard this correctly? Gray’s body goes tense and frigid as his jaw stiffens.

“I think you’ve got your theory all wrong,” murmurs Saibara.

His skin feels as though it's being impaled with ice cubes; he’s wobbly, and the room is suddenly like an igloo around him.

“What _you’re_ saying is that Gray claims Doctor Trent misdiagnosed his mother’s condition back in the city, which isn’t a crime in and of itself, and that’s where the hate stems from. That’s why he started this fight,” Harris confirms.

The sentences around him are barely registering in his brain. He has to grip the door handle to prevent himself from falling over dizzily.

“He just wanted to keep him away from Claire,” Saibara sighs.

“You think he’s mad at you for making the ring? I mean, you gotta still make a living, right?”

Gray shuts his eyes, shaking his head. She's _engaged?_

Saibara scoffs. “How’d you know I made the ring?”

“Only one jeweller in town who crafts a rock as nice as you.”

“... I tried to tell Gray before the doc’d even proposed… he wouldn’t listen to me.”

Harris muses. “Think he knows?”

“I… I’m not sure.”

“Practically everyone in town's caught wind of it. It’s only a matter of time before the news travels.”

She didn’t tell him.

Claire didn't tell him.

Gray's stomach drops as he succumbs to sinking low to the floor.

And for some reason, _this_ is what he classifies as the final nail in their coffin. This is the point of no return; the thing that neither of them can go back from.

She was already engaged before he went and beat up Trent.

The night of the festival.

She couldn't even bring herself to tell him. She'd wanted him to find out from everyone else.

_Jesus, Mary, and Joseph._

“Don’t worry, with the amount he paid, you might be able to cover what your grandson’s bound to get charged with," Harris assures.

Saibara groans. “I wish I never agreed to go through with the order.”

“Like I said, you still gotta make a living too. You know, considering the state of your shop right now.” Harris pauses, before ruffling through some papers and continuing again. “Could he be wrong? Or is it possible he’s lying?”

“Fucking hell… about what?”

“About Trent being his mother’s old doctor.”

Saibara sighs again. “I told you, he didn’t get his name back in the city. Just that he recognized him.”

“What _I’m_ saying is that I find this all hard to believe. I thought Doctor Trent did his medical residency back in Texas, where he’s from. I never once heard him mention Chicago. Hell, I don’t even think his file says it.”

“... I’m just telling you what Gray told me.”

“I mean, I can look into it.”

The sound of a briefcase closing, a chair being untucked, and a jacket getting zipped up seem like faraway noises in Gray’s mind. He's nearly collapsed against his bedroom door, gasping for air. It's like that night in Claire's bathroom, when he couldn't get a grip until she came in and held him throughout his panic attack.

He cannot for the life of him fucking breathe right now.

“Does it matter?” Saibara’s voice is the lowest that he’s ever heard it.

The sound of the front door opening cracks through the dead silence. The shop's creaky doorknob twists.

“No,” murmurs Harris. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

It doesn’t.

The front door just closes shut, signifying Harris' departure.

And through his foggy head, Gray realizes that he’s got no other choice but to make like his dad, and fucking get away.

It’s what Claire wants.

But most importantly, it’s what he needs right now.

* * *

“Oh, Lord,” says Doctor Hardy. He surveys the damage on an unconscious Trent: nasal fracture in three different places, hematoma over the left side of his face, an edema of the jaw... Jesus Christ, that angry, young blacksmith got him good. He didn’t think he’d be capable of all _this_.

Elli merely scribbles something down on a clipboard, looking up absently. She seems debilitated.

“What?” she mumbles, gaze drawn back to the floor, as though she's entranced by the layer of dust over it.

Hardy removes his gloves and stethoscope, calling it quits for the night. “He’s almost unrecognizable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...
> 
> Would love to hear your guys' thoughts on all this! 😅 So sorry it's so long, I overwrite way too much like I need serious help haha. But here's the update... I mean I guess it's not exactly the update ya'll were hoping for, but I'm here! Lmao. Uhhhhhh also I made a Tumblr filled with humorous, reblogged memes if that helps? 😂 Here's the link: [practicado.tumblr.com](https://practicado.tumblr.com) Follow me and/or drop by to say hi, it's hard to chat on here and it'd be fun to interact with you guys more 🥰 Also, don't mind the name, honestly idek haha
> 
> Everyone rn's probably like........ are you sure this is a Graire fic? Do... do you even like this pairing, do you even want them together?????  
>   
>   
>   
> LOL, all I can say is I think (?) I have it kinda sorta figured out. I mean, hopefully lolz. As always though, I hope you guys know that you can share any comment, question, suggestion, reaction, or feedback with me regarding the chapter ☺️ It's great to hear from readers and it makes me happy that you guys continue to click on my story :') While I'm not happy with how things are rn in the fic either haha (I swear I'm all about peace n love in my real life folks 😂✌️❤️), I'm trying to branch out and do something a little different than what I'm used to. Hopefully you guys are still interested in everything that's going down and decide to stick around to see how it all plays out, because it would mean the world to me ☺️ Posting this chapter has made me v nervous if you can't tell lol ok I'm done rambling w/ that 
> 
> So, okay, I fully acknowledge how toxic all of this chapters' content is. Gray included, he is hella not great right now. And neither is Claire tbh (though she is still reeling in her sexual assault which she's completely unaware even was sexual assault). But idc how hurt someone is, noooooo oneeeee should be hitting anyone. I feel so strongly about that (as should anyone tbh) and that's that on that 🤷 I also really wanted to tackle misogyny, personal privacy, slut-shaming, and gender inequality. I debated back and forth between including Ann's fight with her dad, as it was not easy to write, but I decided to include it anyway, even though there's still some unanswered things we don't know yet about it. But Karen!!!!!! Like we have no choice but to stan a woke queen haha 🥺🙌 Basically this is the chapter where all the shit goes down. Like all of it. But at least Trent wasn't in it LOL (btw..... I tried to include a lot of hints in this chapter regarding him. I really hope the dots are beginning to connect because he makes me nervous haha). Okay, okay, I think I'm done. Thank you times a million for reading, and I hope that you guys are doing well as always <3 :) Things will be different next chapter, get ready 🙇
> 
> PS: ofcccc Claire's signature scent is Pink Sugar by Aquolina. It even came out in 2004, it was meant to be :-)


	40. The Emptiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of a 2 chapter update. Claire decides to cut Gray out of her life completely. As the weeks pass, despite wrestling with her anger, she can't seem to get him out of her mind.

He’d like to remind you all of how brilliant he is.

He had a plan.

A damn good plan even. One of the best plans he’d come up with—y’know, besides the one that he’s currently executing.

Did things go _exactly_ to plan?

Not quite.

But that’s okay, his night with Claire didn’t either. It’s not like he meant to come early; lots of men suffered from sexual dysfunction… he just got too ahead of himself. It pissed him the fuck off—the whole premature ejaculation thing—but it was fine. He was fine, and she was as high as a kite; didn’t register a thing. She was still his, and he’d be getting that blacksmith out of the way for good.

The first step actually started with Doug, if you can believe it. He’d come into the clinic regularly for check-ups, the sphygmomanometer cuff squeezing against his humongous bicep and displaying an alarmingly high rate over the blood pressure monitor. One time, he hobbled in with a sprained ankle due to kicking a coffee table after his favourite football team didn't score a single point during an important game. His file stated that he suffered from migraines frequently whenever he lost his cool. A few obligatory questions later, and Trent determined that the man was someone with an apparent anger management issue.

Kind of like himself.

There was also Doug’s daughter, the waitress. It appeared that she was the closest to Gray out of everyone else, and after prodding Claire about it, she shook her head, revealing that the two of them had a fling unbeknownst to Ann’s father.

And then he remembered Elli taking care of some testing for her, keeping things discreet. He didn’t think much of it at the time, figured it was something Elli could deal with, until he later rifled through her file for the truth.

The truth was always a gamble, sure—delivering her results in that envelope took balls, but it paid off. An angry religious man with a disobedient daughter, an unstable punk that everyone knew she was close to… it all simply had to work out. And if that lonely traveler, Cliff, got hit with the crossfire… well, he supposed that it would just have to happen like that.

He’d built a rapport with Doug—he’s his doctor for crying out loud! He was putting a lot on the line to give out those results; he assumed that it would _have_ to pay off. His blatant honesty helped Doug see what his daughter had been up to. And while witnessing the attack, it was evident after everything whose side he would have to be on.

Then, there was the whole engagement debacle. He’d ordered the ring from the old man before he’d left—in which he just needed to get away from this fucking hick town for a bit. There was a few girls who had been missing him back home, his family’s wealth to relinquish in, loose ends to tie up.

He knows that after he marries Claire he’ll uproot them to Dallas, where he ultimately has no choice but to reveal his own truth to her.

It’s okay though. She’s wrapped around his finger; she’ll come to understand. Plus, what sort of young Catholic would divorce her first, real love? She'll just have to accept it all, as hard as it may be to come to terms with for her. She’ll have to—it just isn't in the plans for her to _not_.

And the core for his reasoning—the inspiration for all this madness?

His sweet Claire.

Was there a reason she hadn’t bled that night? He checked her hymen; it felt intact enough, not like Elli’s after she’d lied to him. This was it, and he fucking wasted the opportunity.

His entire plan didn’t go _according_ to plan.

He was okay with taking a hit; a hit was fine. A hit was _manageable_. And, given Gray’s weakened, alcoholic state, he hypothesized that after the hit, they’d both go down without a fight.

This is not what happened.

Gray knocked out one punch to his jaw— _Dear Lord_ , that hurt.

And as he saw the anger written over his face, Trent knew that he’d instantly undermined this whole thing.

Because the punk bounced back, delivered his fist against his goddamn rhinoplasted nose. Even after shattering glass against Gray’s head—the guy didn’t stop. Over and over and over, he just kept going—wailing on him like he was ready to kill him.

He was lucky to have passed out near the beginning of the ordeal. It was good because everyone saw what a mentalcase the guy was.

It was bad because Trent came out of it completely scathed.

Apparently, his injuries were so severe, that Doctor Hardy had to be called.

This is the scariest part. If he could berate Elli, he would, but he can’t even find the words. His throat clenches—every part of his body feels like it's being held down with thick cement. A medical mask clings to his face as he dizzily comes to.

His first thought is that this must be what all of his neglected patients feel like.

His second thought is sheer panic, induced by Hardy next to his bedside, scribbling something illegible on a clipboard.

“Oh, good,” he says, nodding. He adjusts his robotic eye, like he’s focusing the lens on a camera. The world around them is dark and indiscernible. “You’re awake.”

This is their first time meeting and he’s not even fully functioning for it.

He recoils at his reflection in Hardy’s head mirror, the sound from the bottom of his throat strangled and suffocated. Despite the room being dimmed for his benefit, he can make out what a swollen, disgusting mess that he’s become. He doesn’t even look like himself anymore.

But he also doesn’t look like what he’s meant to look like either.

“Refrain from speaking, son,” Hardy instructs, his voice levelled and cool. “It’ll do you more harm than good, what with your concussion.”

And he merely nods, dumbfounded.

Hardy begins listing out all of the damage that Gray did to him.

Every medical anomaly he’s now facing hinders his plans.

Hardy congratulates him on his engagement, but says that the wedding clearly cannot happen anytime soon.

This time for healing hinders the plans.

Hardy says that he’ll have to go back to Forget-Me-Not Valley eventually, but should stay to monitor things here for a bit.

THIS bullshit hinders the plans.

“I cannot even fathom that Grayson was capable of doing all this,” says Hardy in disbelief. “He… he has a lot of issues, after his mother died. She was just wonderful… I mean, I know you obviously didn’t know her, but—”

_If only you knew._

“I know him. He doesn’t come from a bad family… he’s not a bad kid. I-I don’t know why he chose to inflict this much pain upon you.”

Trent attempts to shrug, but apparently his collarbone must have also gotten dislocated in the process. He grimaces, suddenly very aware of the I.V. in his arm which begins to pulsate. The EKG machine speeds up like he’s three seconds away from flatlining, but quickly returns to a steady rhythm.

That punk _broke_ him.

“You’re suffering from extreme edema, son. On top of everything else.” Hardy shakes his head. “I was just saying to Elli, you don’t even look like yourself anymore.”

And _this_ goddamn factor hinders the plans.

“There’s swelling to both your eyelids and sockets… your nose is a damn wreck.” Hardy continues listing all of this problems, gathering his things to leave the room. “Just keep the mask on, you’re very susceptible to infection right now. And be sure to get some rest.”

He nods, grateful for this kind of shield, this multi-usage armor of protection. If he needs to speak, it’ll be with a gravelly whisper. His whole face isn’t revealed, it’s unrecognizable anyway. It’s fine.

He’s fine.

He drifts off into a deep sleep, relinquishing in the numbing medicine pumping through his sore veins.

He’s not sure how much time passes when he awakens. It could be hours or it could be days; he has no concept of the clock at the moment. His skin is bone-chillingly cold, the perimeter around the I.V. frozen to the touch.

But he instantly warms up because there, at his bedside, is his future, virginal bride. She’s hunched over in a chair, her eyes half-lidded and sleepy. Her cheek rests in her palm, elbow leaning against her knee. The second he reaches for her hand, she flinches upward, suddenly awake and alert.

“Hi, love,” he says, tearing off his medical mask with his free hand.

Claire blinks like she’s in a daze, before squeezing his hand frantically. Her eyes crinkle a bit, forcing a smile of sorts, but the rest of her face displays hardened callousness.

"Hi," she whispers. “Are you okay?” The worry in her voice is masked by distance.

This question can't help but piss him off. He scoffs bitterly at her. “I’d be better, if not for your goddamn friend.”

Claire stiffens, her hand squeezing his a bit too hard. Her engagement ring indents against his skin. “He’s not my friend,” she mumbles.

That’s what he wants to hear.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he says.

“Can I do anything for you?” she asks, still sounding so far away.

“No,” he answers, a little too sharply.

Claire bites at her bottom lip and chews on the side of her cheek before gnawing at her nail. She’s restless, stalling; clearly figuring out how to word her next sentence so that he doesn’t snap on her.

“Trent…" Her voice is timid as she treads carefully. "What happened?”

“Your goddamn piece of shit ‘roommate’ attacked me, Claire.”

“You don’t think I already know that?” she says desperately.

He narrows his eyes at her bitterly. “Then what are you asking me?”

“I-I just want to know why.”

This sort of question coming from her doesn’t surprise him in the slightest. “Because he’s fucked in the head," he snaps. "He was definitely on something… crystal meth… _something_ —”

“He doesn’t do crystal meth,” Claire says, almost snorting.

He glares at her as she shrinks back into her chair, looking down.

“Why are you trying so hard to humanize him?”

“What? No, Trent, I—”

“After all he did? He’s put our future on hold, ruined all of my plans.”

"Your plans?” She frowns. This is the most tired that he's ever seen her. It's not a good look for her; he can't admire her in a state like this. "Why don't you try taking it down a notch? Doctor Hardy said that you have to takes things easy."

Shaking his head, his entire peripheral starts to spin like he’s in a fast-moving vehicle. He groans, lowering himself back down against his pillow. “ _Our_ plans.”

Claire opens her mouth like she's about to say something, before clamping it shut into a tight line, folding and unfolding her hands nervously in her lap like she can’t sit still.

“What is it?” he demands. He has to angrily repeat himself again when she doesn't respond the first time. "Hello?"

“It’s nothing,” Claire tells him, sighing. She looks worn out, but what could she have possibly going on? Is _she_ lying in a hospital bed with damage permeating throughout her entire body? _No._

The muscles in his jaw stiffen, sending waves of pain around his mouth and up toward his head. Everything aches, and now he’s getting even more infuriated. He's about three seconds away from unleashing all of his pent-up frustration out on her. “Tell me right now.”

“No, it’s nothing,” she murmurs. “Let’s just talk about something else—or, we don’t have to talk at all, actually.”

“Claire.”

She shakes her head quickly like she’s trying to rid herself of any bad thoughts. “We’ll save it for another day.”

Has she found something out about him?

“If you don’t spit it out _right now_ ,” he warns.

“What?” Claire asks weakly. Her eyes scan his broken figure in the bed up and down. “What’ll you do?”

He stops himself from clenching his sore jaw again. _“Now.”_

The air is still between them; her unexpressed thoughts filling the room with tension. It seems like forever until she speaks. Her voice is clear, but there’s a distance to it; something holding her back.

“Gray told me he didn’t take the underwear,” she reveals solemnly. “You did.”

“… Absolutely ridiculous.” He scowls. _That's it?_ “Doug saw everything. What did he say?”

Claire frowns. “He said that he didn’t see you do anything.”

“Well, there you go.” He almost breathes in a sigh of relief. “I can’t believe you even have the audacity to doubt me.”

“Gray also said that you’re the reason his mom died.” Claire’s eyes are a cold navy blue, fixated on him like she's trying to make out a stranger before her. “Is that true?”

Well, this isn’t a part of the plan either.

* * *

New Year’s Eve comes and goes. Karen drinks recklessly, Rick tries to keep her steady, and Ann won’t even come out of her room, despite her friends’ frequent, unsuccessful pleading. Cliff stands around town square trying to make small talk with Claire, because she realizes that the two of them are equally very alone in this plaza full of people.

“Do… do you know if Ann’s mad at me?” he finally asks timidly. She knew this question was coming.

Claire frowns, shaking her head as she watches Thomas unfold a lined sheet of paper containing his New Year’s Eve speech. Apparently, its annual message is all about prosperity, good fortune, and moving forward in life.

 _Moving forward_. She shivers into her coat. That would mean moving _past_ everything first.

“No, I don’t know,” she says, not meaning to sound so bitchy.

Cliff looks down at the dusted snow over the tiled floor, disappointed and wilted.

She winces, inwardly scolding herself for being rude. “I’m sorry, Cliff.”

“What? No, no, it’s okay,” he says quickly, tugging on the end of his brown ponytail. “I know you’re… um—”

He doesn’t even finish the sentence, because what is there to say about her? That she’s stressed, she’s tired, she’s upset, she’s filled with anger and worry and everything else in between?

That she's still getting looked at differently by everyone?

“I just wanna know if I did anything to make her upset,” he mumbles, digging his hands into his pockets sadly. “She won’t even look at me.”

Claire stares at him, realizing that Ann hasn’t been looking at her a whole lot lately either. She won’t say a damn thing about what the hell’s been going on.

It’s not like Claire’s addressing the elephant in the room either, though. All of her fears, her problems, she’s just trying to pretend like they don’t exist for awhile. She still can’t even fathom that Gray lied to her like that, about the underwear, about Trent and his mom all combined.

... Because he did lie, right?

 _Duh._ There’s probably even more lies deep down. She feels like she never even knew the guy in the first place; he's a total stranger to her now. Has their whole dismantled friendship just been built upon lies?

Her anger is preventing her from reflecting on all that she said to him, all that she did that day.

She just tells herself that he deserved it—even though a statement like this is dishonesty on her part.

So is her inability to tell him about her engagement.

_... Whatever._

She’s hurt right now; hurt and alone. Alone in a crowd full of people—people who still look at her with critical eyes, people who just aren’t able to fill that empty void in her heart.

Karen runs over, tripping over her own two feet and grinning lazily as she hooks her arm around Claire’s shoulder. She tries to convince her to take a sip of her cognac as they count down the new year together, and within seconds, it’s 2005.

Skinny flutes of champagne begin getting handed out to everyone as she spots Saibara from across the plaza. Her stomach is still in knots from the soba noodles that she forced down her throat earlier. Apparently, they're supposed to bring good luck into the new year, and she's in no position to be turning that promise down.

What a joke, though. All that they really did was make her feel sick and full.

She just nods at the old man, a gentle tilt of her head to merely acknowledge his presence.

And he looks as though he's getting ready to hobble over to her, like he's got more to say. An unintentional scowl begins to crawl across her mouth, and she notices him deflate a bit.

Look, it’s not Saibara that she hates; it’s his sonofabitch grandson, who thankfully hasn’t shown his face around as of lately. He’s probably wasted right now; passed out and faceplanted into a… _is it a pile of cocaine? Is that the correct measurement for it?_ Whatever—he’s definitely just secluded himself into his room so that he can get drunk and/or stoned out of his mind.

 _Disgusting._ She still can’t even believe that there was a point in time that existed when she didn't hate him.

“Happy New Year,” Claire blandly calls out to Saibara, grabbing some packaged, cold soba noodles on the way out for Trent. He probably won’t eat them, but she figures that she can at least try anyway. They could use all the luck they'll get.

She doesn’t catch the old man’s expression as she leaves. Because she’s simply gone, and that’s that.

* * *

“You haven’t left your room,” says Karen, poking a salt-and-vinegar _Pringles_ chip at Ann’s mouth. She frowns when she refuses to take it, her lips tightly sealed and locked. “And you’re not eating. You. Of all people.”

“Cliff’s worried about you,” Claire says absentmindedly. Her eyes are glued to the television screen catatonically as the three watch _Desperate Housewives'_ credits roll by. This week’s episode was stupid. Ann hardly even payed attention to it, but she could tell that it wasn’t worth her time anyway.

“Is everything okay?” Claire asks worriedly. “You weren’t even there to talk to him at New Year’s.”

Ann can’t help but scoff at her. She told them that she had the flu, but it was her third time using that excuse in a row, and she doubts they even bought it. “Have _you_ talked to Gray yet?”

Karen frowns, interjecting the tension that’s now been created. “Has _anyone?_ I mean… who’s even seen the guy?”

Claire shoots Ann a glare, clearly annoyed. “Don’t change the subject.” She watches the last of the end credits scroll by with a guilty look on her face, bringing her knees into her chest like a little kid. “He came by the day after everything happened, and that was that.”

Ann scowls. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, I did tell you,” Claire points out haughtily.

Whether she totally did or totally didn’t, Ann isn’t sure, because it’s not like she’s really directing her focus to certain shit these days. The amount of times she’s been getting the orders wrong at work, having to bring the incorrect food to her dad with her head hanging low because they’re still not speaking with one another is astonishing.

And Cliff—she merely passes by him like an amnesiac patient that's forgotten who he is to her anymore.

“Well, it’s not like you elaborated on what happened,” she says back.

“I’d rather not talk about him at the moment, if that’s okay with you,” Claire mumbles.

There’s a long pause of silence as the T.V. switches over to _Boston Legal._

Karen quickly snatches the remote, nearly knocking the container of _Pringles_ over in the process. “Okayyy, who wants to watch _Extreme Makeover Home Edition!_ Like, get the tissues ready people.”

Ann ignores her, harsh gaze still directed toward Claire. “So, what’d he say?”

"Who, Gray?"

"Duh."

“Not much,” Claire answers bitterly, running a hand through her long hair as a form of distraction. “Well, not much worth repeating.”

“He didn’t apologize?”

“… He did. I obviously didn’t accept it.”

“Obviously!” Karen exclaims, whole-heartedly agreeing. She breaks her gaze away from the television with a raise of her brows. “I wouldn’t. And he completely deserved that bitch slap.”

Ann stares at them. She doesn’t realize just how much information she’d missed out on when continuously blowing her friends off. This is the first time they’ve actually all hung out in more than three weeks now. Karen told her that the whole _I’m busy, I’m sick, I’m on my period_ excuses were getting pretty old, and pretty unbelievable in the first place.

“You hit him?”

Claire pretends to be unphased, but she looks away uncomfortably. “Don’t make it seem like that’s worse than everything else he did, Ann.”

“That’s still fucked up,” she snaps. “If the roles were reversed—”

Claire gives a fake laugh. “Do _not_ lecture me.”

“It’s true.”

“Ann, he humiliated me! He nearly put Trent in a coma, he lied to my face _multiple times_ —”

“Lied about what?” she asks, squinting.

Claire’s jaw tightens, but she rolls her eyes in irritation. “Honestly, don’t worry about it. If I tell you, I'm sure you’ll somehow find a way to turn it against me so that he looks like the angel."

“Not for nothing, but I know how nasty you can get when you’re pissed.” Claire's not the type of person to get mad easily, it's just that when she does... like, beware, 'cause it's unsettling to say the least. At least Gray's temper is warranted, because before he opens his mouth, you know you're probably dealing with a huge asshole. But Claire is generally a really nice person. “What’d you say back to him?”

Claire just looks down at her lap like it’s the most interesting thing in the world, avoiding having to answer this question.

Ann grabs the remote from Karen as she begins flipping through the shitty late-night programming on her channels, not bothering to hide her vexation. She doesn't know why she's so protective of Gray sometimes; maybe it's because they've slept together, or maybe it's due to the fact that she knows no one is ever in his corner with him. “Well, you’re gonna have to forgive him at some point, and then you’re gonna owe him an apology just as much.”

“No,” Claire snorts. Her brows are knotted in anger, and her pointy ears are blooming red. “No, honestly, just stop. I literally can’t believe you’re not taking my side in this.”

“I’m not _not_ taking your side,” says Ann, because this is all so trivial to her. “It’s just unnecessary B.S.”

“That _he_ caused,” snaps Claire.

“Cool it, you’re both heated,” warns Karen, seizing the remote again. She effectively changes the channel from some infomercial, back to _ABC_. “Pay attention to _Extreme Makeover_.”

“How’d he take your engagement?” Ann asks, because it’s not like she’s talked to Gray either. She won’t even go near Cliff, let alone see the guy that her dad found out she slept with. Maybe she's trying to protect them both, or maybe she's just totally afraid, but regardless, she feels a lot safer in this personal bubble that consists of just her and her problems right now.

Claire says nothing in response again.

“Oh, he doesn’t know yet, huh?” Ann swears. “You didn’t have the balls to tell him?”

“We don’t have balls—we have ovaries,” Karen deadpans.

Ann glares at her. “Shut it.”

“Uh, I’m older than you. _You_ shut it.”

Claire shakes her head with a scoff. “He can find out from everyone else. It’s not like… I’m hiding it from him.”

“Oh, bullshit, Claire,” scoffs Ann. “That’s bullshit and you know it. What're you so afraid of?”

These words seem to strike a nerve in her. “What are _you_ so afraid of? You haven’t left your fricken’ room in weeks.”

“Ann, Claire doesn’t have to tell him anything,” Karen says slowly, like she's treading through dangerous territory with a statement like this. “And he royally fucked up. Like, seriously, you know he did.”

Oh, Ann knows he did. She knows how upset Claire is about it all, because betrayal doesn’t come from your enemies—it comes from your friends. If she were in her shoes, she’d probably have reacted even worse. Like, seeing Gray with Claire’s underwear in his hands, beating the fucking shit out of her fiancé? Even if it’s all one big misunderstanding, it will _forever_ look bad. And on top of the things he did, the things he _said?_ Jesus.

She knew that brawl was bound to happen though, sooner or later. Gray can be such a hotheaded idiot sometimes; it's been brewing since that damn doctor moved into town.

“Oh, so, you’re on her side," Ann mutters.

“What is with you both and sides?!” Karen asks wildly. “You guys are friends, get off each others’ throats.”

Claire huffs and crosses her arms, shaking her head as she looks like she’s trying hard not to cry. Ann picks up the T.V. remote again, flicking the channel onto the end of the basketball game.

“Let’s talk reasonably,” says Karen. She holds out her hands gently as though she's trying to ease them both into the idea.

“No,” they both mutter in unison.

“Jinx,” she chimes.

“It’s only jinx for the _people_ who say it,” says Claire wearily.

“Not the people around them,” Ann mumbles.

Karen gets up from the corner of the bed to shove herself in between them, as if this close proximity is going to help. She's got the cylinder of _Pringles_ tucked away in the crook of her arm. “Claire, you didn’t tell Gray that you're getting married because you wanted to hurt him, or you were afraid of hurting him, correct?”

She just looks down. “I dunno… it’s a bit of both, Kare. I didn’t really want to, and… and I just couldn’t.”

“Why?” Ann demands, though Karen gives her a stern look and shushes her. She knows that she’s taking things too far when Karen of all people has to be the one to regulate her silence.

“Ann, something’s been up your ass since the fight, right?" Karen holds her hand out when she begins to protest. "Don’t bother denying it.”

She stares straight ahead, swallowing a lump that's lodged in her throat. “My father found out I’m not a virgin,” she says absently. “He saw my STD screening and lost his shit on me.”

Karen's taking a bite of the chips as she says this, before choking and coughing the remnants out of her esophagus. “Uh, okay, YIKES! When were you gonna tell us this?!”

“Oh, God,” Claire whispers. “What did he say?”

“What do you think? He treated me like a whore,” she spits. “Do you have any idea how that feels?”

Claire's eyes soften, and Ann instantly wishes that she had suppressed these words. Karen already told her privately just how much of an effect Gray's outburst had on the town's attitude toward her. Combined with the dress-up outfit that she was wearing during the fight, and _jeez_. It's all so fucked up, but the villagers have clearly already made their mind up about it all. 

Karen widens her eyes though, nodding at her in agreement. “I _totally_ get it. Remember when Anna did that prayer circle outside of the church after Mother Teresa died, and she was like, ‘only those who have remained pure can attend,’ and I was fifteen… and I was like, ‘what’s that even mean?’, and she was like ‘pure as in virgin’, and I was like, ‘but you have a daughter… how are you a virgin?’ and my mom was like, ‘she means it in the premarital sense,’ and then—me and my big mouth—I was all like, ‘fuck, guess Rick and I can’t attend then, ahaha,’ and my mom obviously heard and… hoo boy.” She grimaces at the memory, pointing a finger gun at her head as she pulls the trigger. "I was a dead girl walking in my house."

“I remember that,” Ann tells her with a frown. “My dad heard about all that happening… and he told me just how important it was to not… well, y’know.”

“Why would Anna have a prayer circle that wouldn’t include everyone?” Claire asks with a frown. “That doesn’t even make sense… that’s like the opposite of what they’re supposed to achieve.”

"This is before Carter came along," Ann scoffs. That family is seriously drinking some fucked up _Kool-Aid_ , ‘cause they're all goddamn basket cases. “What'd you expect? She’s a judgmental cu—”

“ _Cut_ back to _Extreme Makeover_ ,” Karen tells her with a wink, grabbing the remote from her once again. “There’s only so many uses we’re allowed for that word. Seriously.”

Claire touches Ann’s arm. “I'm sorry all this's been happening and we didn't know. That must've been really hard for you to go through alone."

She shrugs it off. “I just feel empty.”

“Yeah, I get that,” says Claire. “I understand. I've been feeling that way too.”

“I’m sorry… I know you did more for Gray than anyone here, and I know how much it must suck.” Her mouth falls into a frown.

Claire shrugs and looks away. “I don’t even know how to feel either, to be honest.”

Ann recalls the night he came to her looking for a fix, creating an even bigger misunderstanding with her father days later. No, seriously, the guy _requires_ help.

“You have to talk to him at some point,” Ann tells her.

Claire winces and shakes her head like this isn’t even a possibility that she’ll entertain.

“Just like you gotta talk to your dad,” says Karen. “Stand up to him.”

“And Cliff,” Claire adds, clearly thankful for this changing of the subject. “He misses you. He thinks that he did something wrong.”

Ann falls back on her bed, head hitting her pillow as she sighs. She's too tired to even function right now, let alone entertain this. “Let’s just drop it, alright?”

“Can’t,” says Karen. “I’m too invested.”

“Look, I fucked up," she tells them, rubbing her temples. Her brain is throbbing, and despite trying to be unemotional, she knows that she's on the verge of crying. "I let my guard down, and now my dad is forever gonna look at me different. I just want to be sad and alone right now, if that’s alright with you guys.”

Karen sighs. “Ann, I get it. Girls get shit on for literally everything… we gotta go through so much more B.S than the guys. Like, why do we get taxed for tampons and pads? Who the fuck knows. Why's it acceptable for a guy to bone as much as he wants, while we're expected to save it for that special someone? Science's greatest mystery—I get it."

"Just don’t push us away for that," Claire tells her, face knotted with concernment. "Don’t push Cliff away either.”

Ann rolls her eyes. “I’m calling it a night.”

Claire frowns. “Wait—”

“No more men,” she mumbles, grabbing her quilt. She slides under her covers, undoing her red braid as she turns away from them. “No more of my dad, no more Gray, no more Cliff.”

“Ann—” Karen begins.

“I'm goin' to bed, so... goodnight.”

No more of her friends either, she guesses.

As they get up to exit her room sadly, she realizes just how lonely she already feels without them.

Isolated, pushing not only men away, but women too. Is this her father’s end goal? To make her feel bad for literally everything? Does her reality as a young woman require doing things to ensure that everyone else doesn't see her differently, to live for other people besides herself?

To apologize for merely existing as she does?

* * *

Jeez, it’s emotional rollercoaster after emotional rollercoaster.

But Ann’s not right… like she’s obviously wrong, _right?_

Claire doesn’t owe Gray a goddamn thing. Not now, not ever.

Certainly not an apology; she’ll be mad forever—she’s already decided.

She listens to the loud vibration of an instrument when her foot accidentally catches Gray's bass that's been tucked away under her bed. He hasn't come by to pick it back up, so this is its new location for now.

 _She's_ not going to be the one to return it. And because he's actually listening to her demands of leaving her alone for good now, neither of them have even crossed each other's paths.

She wants his shit gone though, because when the toe of her slipper hits the bass, she can only swallow; pretending as though the very sound doesn't elicit a wash of memories in her head.

Trent is currently in her bathroom, scrutinizing his still-bruised face. She’s retrieved her _Ziplock_ makeshift icepack for him, dimming the lights in an attempt to help ease his headaches. He’s still not fully recovered from his concussion yet.

Trent inspects the mirror with barely open, swollen purple eyes. “The hell’s this?” he grumbles, when she tentatively brings the frozen dish-soap against his face.

“An icepack.”

"No, it's fucking not."

"I made them—"

He removes it from her hands, impulsively launching it against her bathtub with a loud bang. It knocks over Gray's shampoo, body wash, and conditioner that's on the ledge—he still hasn't picked up those yet either.

Claire is frozen, staring with wide eyes. Maggie runs into the room, barking and growling as a result of the commotion.

“I can’t fucking use that, Claire," Trent snaps, his voice menacing and low. He looks around the bathroom, glancing at the bottles he's knocked over, at the heightened shower nozzle, at Gray’s aftershave cream on the counter.

"Why's his shit still here?" he demands. "Throw it in the damn garbage or something; don't even bother to give it back."

But Claire is hardly listening; she's shaking, her pulse pounding in her ears. She turns away from him, picking up Maggie to soothe her as she tries to steady her breathing.

"Why are you being so horrible to me?" she whispers, burying her face in Maggie's soft, almost-curly fur to keep herself from wobbling. "I didn't do anything."

"It's not me," Trent says uncomfortably. He always grows irate with her when she gets emotional. "It's the concussion. Irritability is one of the number one symptoms of—"

"I don't care," she mumbles, hating the way that her voice breaks with every syllable. But she's just desperate for his outbursts to stop. "You don't have to yell or throw things. I've only been trying to help you this entire time."

He begins to protest, but eventually just gives her the slightest nod; one that won't hurt his chin or face when he tries to execute it. “... You're right. Sorry. This is all his fault... not yours.” He tries reaching for her arm, but Maggie snarls at him. Hesitantly, Claire scratches behind her ear to try and calm her, before putting her down.

Trent goes back to scrutinizing his reflection in her mirror disdainfully, as though all of the purplish blue, yellow bruising across his face is a map that he's trying to study and work around. With a tight grasp on the sink's handles, he turns his direction toward her, exhaling sharply. “He won’t know what fucking hit him when I press charges against his ass. This isn't over. I'm serious."

The entire criminal aspect to their problem hasn’t even remotely crossed her mind. The room is suddenly getting all dizzy again, like a merry-go-round that nobody is letting her get off of. “You’re for sure gonna?” she asks, her voice a mere whisper in the air.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I?”

She just looks down at her slippers, her hair hanging like a curtain in front of her face as she stays silent.

“Claire?”

Her eyes dart up at him. “Ah-huh?”

“Don’t you worry,” Trent mutters, rubbing his head in exhaustion. He winds his arm around her back, gripping the bone of her shoulder tightly as he paces himself, leading them toward her couch. “He won’t be bothering us anymore.”

And her heart catches in her throat.

* * *

She showers after her fiancé leaves, removing her clothes as she steps into her bathroom. Her eyes look so dull in the mirror, her skin splotchy and her hair lifeless. She pretends like there isn't a whole slew of memories contained merely in this bathroom alone, but it's hard, because Gray's shampoo has spilled into her tub when it got knocked over, and the shower head is still as high as it was the way he left it. It smells and looks like he was just in here.

Turning the water on, Claire lets it envelope her, before getting frustrated by the lack of a direct stream on her. _That damn shower head._ She reaches her body out in attempt to try and lower it, stretching her arms out as best she can, getting on her tippy toes to give herself the maximum height that she's capable of, but it's no use. She can't reach it, and it's not budging anywhere.

Stuck like this until someone fixes it.

* * *

It’s another week of not seeing him, and Maggie won't stop circling the couch where he slept, looking around all forlorn and sad. It's like she's forgotten that her actual owner, you know, the one who takes care of her, is still present.

Claire tries opening her cupboard door to get a brand new bag of Maggie's kibble, but something is lodged between it. With a frustrated groan, she pulls and pulls, until she realizes that it’s the cereal that’s been put back wrong, stuck between the hinges.

Completely aggravated, she yanks on it until it lands flat on her counter, leaving a few other packaged goods to come down with it.

She swallows. Gray could never just put shit back correctly, he always had to do things in a way that didn’t make sense.

Like him—his entire being doesn’t make sense.

Claire feels her fists clench, and then she’s angry all over again. The nerve of him, to go and ruin everything—everything. The audacity and the rage and the anger... God, she let that prick into her life and now—

And now what?

She pretends not to see the packages of instant coffee that she bought for him.

Ignores the cereal that he stole because he doesn’t know how to act.

Disregards the shortened, used candles that she lit, the night of…

Fuck.

And then she’s slamming shit. Putting her spoons back with a rattle, shutting the cupboard door with such force that Maggie barks as if there’s an intruder there. Gray was the intruder, he _is_ the intruder. She let him in and look what he did, look what he caused. Look what _happened_. She’s full of rage, she’s pissed off—she’s so fucking angry, muttering to herself and then swearing loudly on the opposite ends of the spectrum. She didn’t even used to be this type of person who cursed, who said her feelings so candidly.

The kind who would tell Gray that he deserved all of those things, in order to hurt him in the ways that he hurt her.

_He did deserve it._

Claire stares at the cereal that they shared the night he told her he tried to die once, and her hands are trembling as she throws it against her wall, _Frosted Flakes_ flying everywhere like the shrapnel to a bomb.

He was the bomb, always ready to detonate.

But she looks at all of the chaos she caused around her, and wonders if it’s maybe her too. Maybe she's just as much of a goddamn explosion.

There’s a knock at her door, followed by the low creak of it opening due to her broken lock. Maggie barks again, letting her know that someone's there, but she quickly becomes too preoccupied by all of the cereal remnants on the floor.

“Hi, Carter,” Claire says weakly, opening the door fully. Her voice is hoarse from the screaming. She blocks him from seeing the mess that she’s created, even though he probably heard all of it with her door slightly ajar like that. She's really got to get around to fixing that lock. Embarrassment floods her face.

“Hello,” says the pastor timidly. “I just came by to check in, see how you were doing.”

“Yeah, no, I’m super,” she says, instantly feeling bad for using her sarcasm against a minister. Has she no filter anymore either?

“I was just a bit worried, since it’s been quite awhile since you’ve attended mass,” he tells her, like she doesn’t already know this. She obviously hasn't had any desire to go back and feel shunned all over again.

“Yeah,” Claire repeats flatly. “I’m aware.”

Carter’s worried lines crease against his forehead, his thick, caterpillar-like brows getting pushed together. “Claire… I know you’re having a tough time right now, what with everything.” He pauses, searching her face. She knows how pissed off she must look, but when she tries to relax it, she can feel her mask coming undone and stops before she surely begins to cry in front of him. “I think some reflection may do you good. And I think that it’s best to let your feelings be known… to whomever needs to know them.”

Here it goes. _This is why he’s here?!_

“Carter, please, I’m so angry right now,” Claire chokes out. Tears burn back her eyelids. “Please, I can’t. I don’t want to do this right now. Don’t ask me to—”

“You don’t have to do anything that you don’t feel comfortable with doing,” he explains gently. “All that I am saying is that you should go talk to him.”

And he doesn’t even have to clarify who or what he means.

Claire scoffs. “No. No, no, absolutely not.” Then, realizing that she’s giving major attitude to a pastor who’s only ever meant well, drops her head low. “I _can’t_.”

Why does _she_ have to be the bigger person?! Yeah, all those Bible verses that she was forced to copy down into her religion notebooks as a kid preached that, but it shouldn't have to start with HER.

“Has Grayson reached out to you?”

The question catches her by surprise, but she manages to shake her head _no_. “Only the day after… everything happened. That was it.”

“Well—”

“He's so full of it, Carter. He freaking lied to me, he disrespected me, he…”

“He hurt you,” Carter finishes.

Claire gazes at him for a long time, before nodding, swiping at the moisture behind her eyes desperately. Her knees start to buckle; she has zero desire to be confronting these problems right now.

“And you feel torn. Because he wounded your heart.”

She stares at him. Wounded her heart?

“How did you respond to everything?” he asks.

Claire blinks. He must have heard her entire private meltdown minutes ago—if he didn't already know it, he clearly is well aware now of just how bad her temper can get. “Not… nicely.”

“Did you wound his heart in return?”

She snaps her vision up at him wildly. “That’s not… well, yeah, I’m sure I did, but he deserved it tenfold.”

“Did he?” Carter frowns. “Did you?” With a shake of his head, he presses his mouth into a tight line, his features softening sadly. “Does anyone, Claire?”

She immediately recalls telling Gray how little he meant to her, how she couldn't give less of a shit if anything ever happened to him.

How he never even mattered at all.

... God, how could she have _ever_ said anything like that to another person?!

Pushing this guilty thought away, she simply lets her anger cloud over her judgement. “Carter, I’m sorry, but I don’t need this right now.”

“Proverbs 17:9 states that _‘Love prospers when a fault is forgiven, but dwelling on it separates close friends_.’” He looks at her with patient eyes, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

_Is this for fucking real?_

And Claire’s fuming now. Would it be bad to slam the door in this pastor's face so that she can either throw some more of her things, or just let herself fall to the ground crying?

“So, what?" she snaps, her voice breaking. "I’m just supposed to keep forgiving him? Just because he and I—”

And she pauses—her blood running cold, her head feeling light, and her body quivering immensely.

_Oh, God._

Carter shakes his head again. “He needs help, Claire. You and I both know that he cannot go on much longer living like this. It’s why he reacts the way that he does, why it makes him that type of person. It by no means excuses his actions, but it cannot be denied that he needs an intervention of sorts.”

"Why is that my problem?" she mutters with a scowl, but her heart strings are being pulled. They're sore and she can't help it.

"It's not," says Carter. "It's his. I just know that you're one of the few people close to him."

"Yeah, well, not anymore."

And she tries to keep this callousness up as best she can, but her lower lip starts to tremble, exposing just how much she actually does care. She presses down on it with her top lip, forcing her mouth into a tight line to keep Carter from seeing how hard she’s trying not to cry right now, but it's no use.

“Do you want to be separated from him?” Carter asks.

_“He won’t be bothering us anymore.”_

Despite her obvious anger, the positive memories manage to slip in through the cracks of the barricade in her mind: late night cereal with him, snowball fights, _Comedy Central_ re-runs, self-defence training, the way he held on to her desperately throughout his panic attack.

The way that she held him back just as tightly.

“No,” Claire whispers, the tears escaping, rolling their way down her cheeks like rainfall.

* * *

 _Apologize_ though? Seriously, for what?!

That’s rhetorical; she knows why. For the things that she said… she was truly awful to him.

The things that she did; were those even worse?

_Well, what about the things that he did?!_

What are the words to even say right now? She needs to talk to him—no, talk at him—but she’s worried that she'll just gape at him like a fish, that the words won't come out right, if at all.

It's been more than three weeks, what is he even thinking? What's he doing, what's running through his mind right now? Is he still apologetic, is he bitter, is he okay?

He's not okay; neither of them are.

Claire never meant that she didn’t care about his life; she was just so damn angry. She hated him in that moment, and maybe parts of her still do, but then there's the other parts that just don't and _why does all of this have to be so complicated?_

That picture of them from her birthday is turned over on her vanity counter. It made her ill just looking at it weeks ago, and yet, she still couldn't bring herself to throw it out. She flips it over for the first time in a long time, staring at their glowing faces and genuine smiles in the photograph. She can't help it; she just starts sobbing uncontrollably again, unable to get a grip on anything in her life.

She thinks about everything that he did. _God,_ he needs help. He needs severe help, and she knows it, and everyone around him knows it too. Did the drugs and alcohol make him say those horrible things, make him lie, make him disrespect her, make him do everything that he did? Have they altered him permanently?

Jesus Christ, his life _does_ matter to her. Despite being furious, it’s not like it could ever just _not_ matter anymore.

Gray had regretted his words, and fuck, they stung, but she regrets everything. Did she make him feel like she'd be fine if he just up and died? Does he know that this is the farthest thing from the truth, that if he lets his depression and substance abuse consume him, take him to the other side, she'd be broken for the rest of her days?

How could she do all that?

But, how could _he_ do all that too?! The more that she thinks about it, the more it all starts to unravel, and the more angry yet remorseful she becomes.

Sick to her stomach; that's the best way to describe how this whole ordeal has made her feel.

Hitting him though… she had no fucking right. She knows that she had no right; she’s never hit anybody before in her entire life, and the second that it happened, she knew how bad she messed up. It's all messed up; the whole situation, him... her too.

Claire couldn't even tell him about the ring, couldn't even bare to have him see it. She chickened out like some coward; she couldn't even say the words—to solidify them, make them real, watch the mention of her proposal crush him before her very eyes.

So she picked other ways to crush him instead.

He must know about her engagement by now. He must have found out through everyone else but herself.

Burying her head in her hands, she realizes just how brokenhearted, how _lost_ she really is. She waits for the tears to stop, and although it takes awhile, they thankfully run dry.

But the sadness still lingers.

Before she knows it, her coat is on and her feet are picking up the pace toward a different, familiar pathway outside her farm. Despite the fact that she has to go to Trent’s soon so that he’s not dealing with the effects of his concussion all alone, she needs to tend to something else first.

Saibara answers the door immediately upon her knocking, like he's hopeful that it could be someone else.

But it's just her.

“Claire,” he says in disbelief. He’s leaning on his cane more than she’s used to seeing him do, and his hands are covered in black soot. Beneath his longer, white beard that’s stained with grey ash, she catches his frown. “… Is there something you need?”

_Never felt more like a stranger._

She swallows thickly. “I need to talk to Gray.”

“Claire—”

“No, I’m serious, Saibara. Please, I… I dunno what I have to say to him, but whatever it is, I need to say it. I can’t keep going on like this.” Her voice quivers, lips twitching as she bites back a sob. “He can’t either.”

Saibara won’t look at her. His eyes are fixated on his cane beneath him; why is he so dependent on it for keeping him structured now? “You’re too late.”

Claire grits her teeth and looks around like Trent could appear at any minute. Her voice drops to a hushed whisper. “Please, I know he’s mad. I’m… I’m still mad too, but… I just have to talk to him.”

There is a long silence between them, and Saibara is looking everywhere but at her.

“He’s not here,” he finally says.

Claire frowns, but her blood is running cold right now. She doesn’t like his tone at all. “Okay, well, can you tell me where he is, then? Please?”

“I can’t.”

Her words are getting heightened and she can’t help it. Because something is wrong and the old man is terrible at hiding that fact. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“Because I don’t know where he is,” he murmurs.

Time has stopped. The snow falling around her seems to come to a halt. Her lungs aren't working anymore and her vision sways.

“What?” Claire whispers.

“I… I don’t know where he is.”

“You don’t know?”

Saibara drags a hand over his face, shutting his eyes and shaking his head. “He’s missing, Claire.”

* * *

There was a note with scribbled red ink over the paper, strewn about his desk, the night after Harris questioned him almost four weeks ago.

Saibara had slept for so long the night after the interrogation. He had been up so late, he was so tired. So under pressure, and so exhausted from all of the stress.

He saw the note late that next morning. It caught his eye immediately.

 **_Can’t charge me if I'm not here. Don’t come looking for me. Sorry I was a part of the shitty cards you got dealt with._ ** _**—**_ ** _G_ **

Saibara reread it about six times, the words hardly registering in his mind. Just kept scanning and re-scanning the messy writing, throwing on his reading glasses as though they'd help him to uncover some secret code of what it all meant. Wearily, he took the note, staggering over to Gray's room as he pushed the ajar door open with his cane.

His grandson's bed was left a mess, his drawers all opened desperately, like he had left in some sort of a frenzy.

And just like that, the boy was actually gone for real this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> Alexa quickly play Skin & Bones by Marianas Trench 🤧
> 
> Tbh I feel like I'd react the same as Claire in this situation. Like lost and angry and confused and still feeling bad all at once. Ann too, she's pushing the people who care about her away 😔
> 
> Are we closer to uncovering Trent's secret? 🤔 who knows??
> 
> aight onto the next one -->


	41. The Getaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of a 2 chapter update. Told in the same time frame as the first portion, we gain Gray's perspective as to where he's run off too, during the weeks that he's been gone from Mineral Town.
> 
> ALSO! This chapter's got a sex scene toward the end, and I totally know that they're not for everyone, so you can check out my FanFiction.net account if you'd rather not read that in the story (I cut the lemons out on that website since they're not technically allowed). [link](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13532803/41/A-Blacksmith-s-Guide-to-Happiness) I always forget to mention that on here, but yeah that's it!!
> 
> Okay well, onto it then lol.

Here’s the thing: Gray hopped onto that boat, the one that was responsible for bringing all of those annoying tourists from the Sunshine Islands back home, hoping they’d all be travelling to some bright and warm destination... but no. Despite them being called the fucking Sunny Islands, it was still goddamn freezing.

_What the shit?_

He genuinely stayed for a solid 45 minutes, tops. It mainly consisted of him grumbling to himself along the beach's shoreline, but he saw that another boat had arrived to dock itself by the pier, with animal dealers and transporters galore. He hitched a ride with it to the nearest city: Wilmington, Delaware.

And this version of "downtown" just felt like an oxymoron, like it was some town trying to be disguised as a city. It was rural as hell, lacking the thousands of skyscrapers that used to litter themselves around Chicago. Lacking the overall coolness of Chicago, too, but anyway.

Here’s the real kicker though: parts of it were still packed. There were people everywhere he looked, like a reverse-plague or something. Was he just totally not mentally or physically present in his sophomore geography class? Wasn’t Delaware like, one of the least populated states? Next to Wyoming and shit? Maybe it was because the place was so small, so people were like, jammed in like puzzle pieces that didn't fit? But Jesus Christ, he wanted the convenience of a city, with the peace and quiet to accompany it. He wanted to be _alone_.

‘Cause, that's the ultimate goal, eh? To be alone, truly alone, to do whatever the hell he wants, where no one can bother him, where he isn't able to keep disappointing anyone, right?

_To get fucking lost._

He decides that he'll just stay until after New Year's, because it's not like he's got some other plans to work around anyway. He's in Wilmington for roughly three weeks, dividing his time between a shitty bed and breakfast that he's surely not welcomed back at ever again, and a liquor store where he's regarded with open arms as their best customer in awhile. He drags his bottles of liquor into his semi-secluded room in the b&b, listening to the chatter of others through its paper thin walls as he catatonically drinks his days away.

Sometimes he blacks out, other times he's stuck in a state of numbed exhaustion. He tells himself it's good, even though it kind of stops feeling good after awhile.

For some brilliant reason, Gray chooses to not drink in depressed seclusion anymore on his last night there. He wants to be _alone_ , yet the genius that he is fucking goes _out_ for drinks _._ It's because he went to the liquor store too late; they were closed, and he still ~~wanted~~ needed to get fried. He must have begun his black out at the beginning of the night though, because he awakens the next morning on a cot in a little clinic, the back of his head pulsating with each shallowed breath that he takes. There's a silver tray right beside him with thirteen miniature staples piled in the middle, dried blood clinging to their silver material.

His first thought is that he had a rough accident with a stapler. He's a genius, remember? That happened once when he was in the second grade—he'd somehow managed to lodge them into his arm when fooling around with it.

He checks his arm under the scratchy blanket that's doing next to nothing to keep him warm, staring back in shock at the beginning of a tattoo sleeve on his bicep, poking out from under his t-shirt. He lifts the short sleeve, tilting his head so that he can stare back at the inked-out image of Hercules fighting off Hydra, the God's hands wrapped around the serpents' thick body. He pokes it, and it's tender to the touch.

Jesus, the shit's real.

He blinks because he can't believe it. He's wanted this one, along with a couple of others for a long time... but this is what he does when he's fucked out of his mind? Not get laid or cause ruckus or anything; he gets a goddamn tattoo?! Where are his priorities even at anymore?

When Gray feels his head throb again, his fingers reach for the portion that Trent had struck with a wine glass, and he realizes that it's his scalp's staples that have been removed.

He recognizes six Greek letters scrawled together on the outside of his other forearm. Like, what—he just said _fuck it, let's get fully inked?_ He doesn't even remember asking for any of these, he can't even understand or _read_ this one. What's with his random heritage embrace all of the sudden? Jesus, his mom'd kill him if she saw.

"Found you passed out outside that new bar in town," says the surprising voice of a nurse at his door, nodding. "Your head wound was starting to heal around your staples—we had to take 'em out. That's gonna leave one gnarly scar." She frowns, leaning against the door in her teal scrubs. "Your blood alcohol was 0.3, if you can believe that, by the way."

Oh, he can believe it.

The nurse sighs. "What am I supposed to bill for your medical expenses today?"

And Gray stares, saying nothing. Yeah, he's already decided that he's not paying for this shit. He could have removed the staples on his own.

Well, maybe not, but you get the point.

She grows frustrated with his silence and leaves, promising to be back in a few minutes to figure out what to write on his file, since they only have what's on his driver's license.

Shit. He reaches for his wallet, heaving a sigh of relief when he notices that he's still got it, but simultaneously freaking the fuck out because a huge chunk of the money that he had is missing. At first, he obviously thinks that it's been stolen, but why would a thief leave _some_ of the money? 'Cause they felt sorry for his pathetic ass?

And then a receipt is tucked away in one of the flaps, his reminder to the goddamn tattoos that make him realize where most of his money went. They don't tell you not to get inked when you're out of your mind because it's a bad life decision, or because you'll clot or something; it's because it's a bad _financial_ decision. Like Jesus Christ, that money was supposed to be for getting fucked up, not to get tatted so that he could fully embrace the Greek in him. 

Realizing that his cash is dwindling, and that he's sure as hell not paying for this goddamn hospital visit, he climbs out of the cot quietly, sneaking past a receptionist. Despite stumbling over his own two feet, he effectively manages to peace the hell out of this shit all the same without getting caught. When he gets back to the bed and breakfast, he goes to take a shower because he reeks, and upon finishing, is informed that they're permanently removing him on account of him being a horrible guest. Like, yeah, he hasn't gotten around to recycling the bottles upon bottles of liquor stashed in his room, but this warrants him as a horrible guest??

_... Now what?_

Imagine not even being able to handle a place like Wilmington. Jesus, there's something wrong with him.

He grabs his rucksack and dips, making his way toward the docks, forking over nearly the last of his money to ask if there's a boat that’ll take him to the valley. He can't think of anywhere else to go; anywhere else that he can afford.

And there he is; commuting from the city to Forget-Me-Not Valley, omitting his tracings of where he’s been entirely.

The people that he left behind in Mineral Town don't even cross his mind at this stage; not even for a second.

* * *

“I know I keep saying it, but it’s so nice to see you, cuz!” Flora exclaims, smiling as she hands Gray a mug that she clearly made herself out of some smoothed-over clay. It’s filled with piping hot, murky green liquid.

Gray takes it, harbouring the heat that it radiates against his rigid palms. He’s exhausted, and convinced that his blood now runs permanently cold. “Yeah… you too.”

Given that his cousin’s tent is about yay-big, he sits crosslegged on the ground, his long limbs feeling gangly and squished together over her Aztec-styled carpet and artifactual knick-knacks that he nearly knocks over.

She’s from Oregon; they’re a little strange over in that state.

His cousin pushes her circular rimmed glasses up the crooked bridge of her nose, the skin around her large eyes crinkling as she smiles. She’s more than a whole decade older than Gray; he recalls a time when she had to babysit him and keep him out of trouble whenever their families visited each other.

The way that she's looking at him now tells him that he's her first visitor in awhile. This is sort of a given when you think about it, because who the fuck else would she be letting into her tent here?

“How’s your dad?” Flora asks eagerly.

Gray stares at her, his grasp on the mug tightening. “Same old.”

Her positive attitude diminishes slightly, but his dad's insobriety is pretty unsurprising for everyone.She tries to shrug it off. “And your grandfather? I haven’t seen him… y’know, since the funeral.”

Gray doesn’t answer. The only time those two had really interacted was a couple of birthdays here or there, and the wake.

Flora’s smile wilts when she catches his empty expression. “Does he know you’re here?”

And after some time, he shakes his head no. _He_ didn't even expect to be here himself.

Or, maybe this is unconsciously part of his plan all along.

Her face falls as her mouth pulls into a frown. “Did... did something happen, Gray?”

He doesn’t bother responding. Flora’s college-professor-turned-boss, Carter (not to be confused with the pastor), steps in, nodding at the two of them as though he’s unalarmed to be finding a random guy just chilling there. The dude's totally bizarre in general though, with the sun-damaged skin of a ninety-year-old and the wardrobe that looks like he got himself fitted at a _Sprouts Farmers Market._

That's not his burn; it's Claire's. He remembers her ironically being at her funniest when she wasn't trying at all.

Funny how it's all worked out now though.

“Carter,” says Flora, motioning with her hands. “This is my cousin, Gray.”

He peers at him, adjusting his own spectacles, grunting out a response as he digs through a drawer that looks like it's been crafted blindfolded.

“No one knows I’m here,” Gray tells her, not caring if her weird supervisor has anything to say about the matter. “And I know that you don’t have any contact with my dad’s side, so it’s not like you can say shit.”

Flora curses in Greek under her breath. "Here we go."

“I need somewhere to stay for a bit.”

She stares at him for a long time, her expression unreadable. Gathering her dirty blonde waves into her hands, she stuffs them into a messy ponytail with an orange scrunchie tied near the end. “Gray, I’m sorry, but I really can’t be spending my time entertaining you right now. Carter and I are on a very important archeological dig. That’s the only reason we’re here!”

Carter grunts out another response in agreement.

Gray frowns at her. “I swear to God, I’ll be out of your hair. I can even help you with... I dunno, whatever you need help with. I just need somewhere to lay low.”

“Till?” she asks, furrowing her brow.

“... Not sure.”

“Good God, Gray.” Flora scowls, her chipper demeanor totally gone. “What the hell kind of trouble did you get into?”

He scowls right back. “Nothin'.”

“That’s not—”

“Look, don’t worry about it. Like I said, I just need a place to stay,” he mumbles. Then, he adds in a "please" so she knows how clearly serious he is about all of this.

“Oh, yeah, sure. Take one of my many private suites.” Flora gestures around the tiny tent with the mock-charisma of a realtor.

It’s like Gray's just now noting the two sleeping bags perpendicular to him. “You live _here_?”

Carter rubs the skin between his eyebrows like he's giving him a headache. “Ah-huh,” he mumbles.

“What part of archeological dig didn’t register in your head?” Flora rolls her eyes, not bothering to hide her blatant annoyance.

He stares at her incredulously. “You can’t stay in a warm place and accomplish the fucking dig?”

She scoffs outwardly at him. “Thank you for the two cents, Gray. Let me just go and start taking life advice from my nineteen-year-old cousin.” She straightens her glasses out again with a huff. “We get more accomplished being within close proximity to the mines at all times. Also… the inn’s kinda nasty.”

“ _Also_ , we’ve had a multitude of robberies,” Carter adds, grabbing an instant noodle package from one of the drawers. He takes the kettle of hot water that Flora boiled on a fire outside, pouring it into the container.

“Yeah, that too,” she agrees wearily. Her eyes stay locked on Gray. “You of all people really shouldn’t be staying here in a town like this. I'm not even joking, this place can get really messed up. It’s just not good for you.”

“Flo, I can’t go back there. Fucking Christ, seriously I can’t.”

She makes a face, shaking her head. “Your mother wouldn’t want—”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t even friggin’ start.”

Flora glares at him, unimpressed. “You can play this mean tough guy role all you want, but you’re still my little cousin. And I’ll be damned—”

“Look, I just need somewhere to lay low,” he repeats.

“Some of the people here… the shit they do... I mean, fuck!” She knits her dark brows at him in concernment like she hasn't heard him. “You already have that in your life. You don’t need any more of it.”

Gray stares at her, ignoring the jab about his father. His mom’s side never really got along with his shithead of a dad. “I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t want what happened to your dad to happen to you.”

“Yeah, well, it won’t.”

“How can you be so sure? Some things are bigger than you.”

He freezes. Where has he heard this bit before?

“I just… I just need to get lost for a bit. Away from the city, away from all the bullshit… I wanna be left alone.”

Flora frowns, throwing on a sweater over her green tank top. She shakes her head in disappointment at him. “And you can’t accomplish that in Mineral Town?”

 _Absolutely not._ “No.”

“Jesus, you’re really keen on this, huh?” Flora sighs tiredly, shaking her head at him again. Her little military watch beeps on her wrist, signifying an hour past midnight. “It’s getting late. We have to be up really early tomorrow, but come by in the evening, hm?” Her expression softens. “Get some rest and stay out of trouble. Do you need any money for the inn?”

“Nah, Flo. I got it. Thanks though.” He was really banking on the fact that he’d be able to crash somewhere kinda rent free… there had to be a sort of abandoned house or shack somewhere here, right? The money he’s got left is for drinking his life away; the funds to get lost. Not to blow at some shitty inn.

Maybe he's become a total freeloader because neither his grandfather or Claire ever even thought about charging him rent. He didn't even account for his money to go toward a place to stay.

 _Didn't account for some goddamn tats either._ At least he looks cool, or, that's what he's telling himself.

Gray's not about to mooch off of his cousin, though. He's convinced that living somewhere for free isn't the equivalent to borrowing money, even though it kind of is.

He knows that's selfish; he's already well aware.

Carter clears his throat attentively, his expression dark. “We can use an extra set of hands in the mines, so long as you promise not to disrupt any of the markings we’ve laid out… or steal anything.”

“Carter!” Flora snaps.

“He looks like a goddamn criminal, Flora.”

“Well, he’s not!”

“Isn’t this the cousin you told me about who went to jail for stealing a cop car?”

“He didn’t end up actually getting charged with anything.”

"Do you hear yourself right now?"

" _You_ got arrested at that animal rights protest five years ago."

"That's very different."

"An arrest's an arrest. You're being completely insensitive right now!"

“Well, I’m sorry for being a little weary ever since that thief tried to—”

Gray scowls at the two of them, like they’ve forgotten he’s here. “Yeah, don’t worry. I don’t want your fucking fossils.”

Carter looks offended. “Those ‘fucking fossils’ are priceless and could recognize Flora and I as—”

“Sick. Don’t care.”

Flora rolls her eyes. “You’re such a shit.”

He shrugs. “It’s like that.” 

She stands up with him as she goes to lead him out. He carries his rucksack to the side, the one that he packed back home in a frenzy. It represents all that he's got anymore, maybe all that he is.

“Inn’s down the road, you can’t miss it. Be sure to ask for room 42… that’s the cleanest one out of all of them,” Flora tells him.

“That’s why Ruby always gives her son primary access to it when he needs it,” mutters Carter.

“Ugh. Keep away from the freaks around here, and stay out of trouble.” She pauses. “Oh! And if someone named Daryl asks about me… you need to reiterate that I died in a horrible fireworks accident, ‘kay?”

Somehow, this doesn't even remotely faze Gray. “… A horrible fireworks accident.”

“You got it?”

“... Yeah. I got it.”

“He’s in love with Flora, and now he thinks that she’s an apparition from the Goddess,” Carter adds, cleaning his glasses as though this is all just casual conversation.

Gray frowns. “What’s this guy smoking?”

“PCP, mostly. Or bath salts, I’d reckon.” Flora shrugs. “Hell of a drug.”

“Sounds like fun.”

She sighs. “That’s why I don’t want you here. Lack of a law enforcement means this shit just keeps happening.”

Lack of law enforcement is kind of the driving force behind why he got his ass here in the first place. No one's gonna bother him, and no one's gonna say shit about him getting fucked up in the ways that he intends to.

And when he runs out of the money to fund his vices... well, he'll just have to cross that bridge when he gets there. 

Flora sighs again, continuing. “I mean it’s nice for the fresh air… nice to lose yourself for awhile, but I personally can’t wait ‘till we’re done here. I miss home.” Her eyes soften. “Don’t you?”

What even is home?

“Nope,” says Gray. He shrugs, slinging his bag over his shoulder. Maybe he shouldn’t have even shown his face to his cousin, if she's just going to worry about him like this. He's nineteen, he can take care of himself.

Like, not _well_ , but you know what he means.

“Just stay out of trouble,” she repeats firmly. “And please be careful. And think about what I said. I bet you’ll find that this place isn’t for you.”

“I can handle myself,” he says sharply, not intending for it to come out so harsh.

Flora stares right through him, like she's looking through a ghost. He wonders if the exhaustion in his eyes and around his face is that apparent. It just seems like she feels sorry for him. “Right.”

* * *

The people here don’t say much, and that’s fine by him. They keep to themselves; the bartender hardly mutters out a hello or gives a response when he orders a drink.

When he orders several.

There's gruff small talk surrounding his ears here or there. For a second, he's reminded of the chatter that used to hang around the bar at the inn: Karen and Kai talking about sex as usual, Popuri trying to get Cliff to loosen up more while her brother threatens to kick Kai's ass—like he actually could. Ann attempting to mediate the peace at first, before giving up so that she could just stir the pot with Karen by her side. And then Claire: sitting there at the stool, clutching her water and laughing so hard because she loved feeling like a part of something—being a part of something—with her head thrown back and a grin over her mouth.

For the life of him, he can't picture his own role in that scenario.

Gray clears her out of his mind in record timing though, with each slug back of his whiskey. Forgets that he fell in love, because he didn't.

Keeps telling himself that he didn't. 

A cold draft comes in the room and bites at his back when the worn out door to this Blue Bar _(?)_ bursts open. Someone’s holding it like that for a long period of time, and he’s about ready to snap so they'll shut the fucking thing, but remembers that this would require speaking to others, so _no thanks_ to that.

“Would you just fucking get in here?” a guy demands. Gray doesn’t bother turning around to address it—again, he's decided to keep to himself. “Jesus H. Christ, woman. Quit your bitching and hurry your ass up.”

Someone else's voice chirps back, muffled from the wind outside. It's a girl; she's far away and the clear reason behind this door staying fucking open for as long as it's been. He can make out a "leave me alone" and "tiny dick" and "you're drinking alone tonight." Finished with a "screw you" as the cherry on top. _Classic._

With the door wide open like this, Gray listens to the sound of ice being crunched under a pair of shoes, as whoever the hell this chick is walks away.

“Fucking slut,” snaps the guy, slamming the door shut. The sound reverberates throughout the bar, causing everyone to stop their conversations immediately.

“Watch it, Rock,” warns Griffin, the bartender.

He waves him away, dusting some snow off of his blue, long sleeved pullover. “Can’t tell me what to do. I’m your best customer.”

“Oh, shut up, Rock,” mutters the red-headed girl beside him.

Rock scoffs at her. “No one’s talking to you, dyke.”

"Your mama owns the inn, it don’t mean you walk around here like you own the whole town,” says Takakura, an older looking man in a white tank top.

Rock shrugs, sauntering over to the bar. “Exactly what it means, eh, Griffin?”

“No,” he says gruffly.

“My usual,” he orders, in a low voice. He leans against the bar with both elbows propped up on it behind him, smirking at the red-head. “And for your information, Nami, my dick is huge. I know you wanna take it for a test drive.”

“Idiot,” Nami mutters, downing back her drink and hitting the bottom of it against the counter. “You just called me a lesbian and now you’re asking me if I want a ride on your dick.”

“… Huh?”

“Goddamn genius you are,” says a local farmer with jet-black quaffs of hair. “No wonder your girl's done with you.”

Rock's jaw tightens, but he brushes this off, directing his attention back to Nami. He arches his brow at her expectantly. "Well, do you?”

She scowls. "Do I what?"

"Do you want a ride on my—"

Nami angrily pulls out some change from her pocket, handing it over to Griffin with a stoney look on her face. She storms out of the bar, her combat boots stomping against the ground.

Rock blinks, his face twisted with disbelief, before laughing breathlessly. “Fuckin’ women, eh, Marlin? They're such bitches.”

"Shut up," says Marlin. "Just shut the fuck up."

“When’s the last time you got your dick wet, though? Celia definitely doesn't let you—”

“Twat,” says Takakura. “Goddamn twat.”

Rock shrugs at him, tapping the bar counter impatiently as he waits for his drink. “I could have you fired,” he tells Marlin.

“From my sister’s ranch? Jesus, you’re stupid.”

Takakura pushes air between his teeth, clearly amused by all this going on right now.

Rock ignores him, and… look, Gray doesn’t know if it says _Losers Apply Within_ somewhere on his body, but Jesus Christ, it must. ‘Cause this… Matt Damon circa '97 lookalike, with the blonde bowl cut from _Good Will Hunting_ but the lack of a genius IQ, takes the seat right next to him, grinning at him lazily from the side of his eye.

Gray brings the front of his cap closer over his face so that he can just enjoy his drink in damn peace.

“Hey, man! You new here?”

_God, go away._

He just stares straight ahead, lifting the drink to his mouth as he lets the alcohol sear his throat.

The guy's nostrils flare from the corner of his eye. He clearly doesn't like not getting the attention he requires. “Asked you a fuckin’ question.”

Griffin interrupts by sliding a dark amber drink toward Rock. “Here’s your _Sex on the Beach_.”

“G-Griffin, what the hell?! I, I didn’t order a—”

And because Gray can't help but be a smug asshole, he smirks over at him. “Your usual's a fucking femme cocktail?”

The guy stammers in embarrassment as Gray downs back his drink in record timing. It burns, but this is the most amused he's been in weeks. He tosses some bills at Griffin and throws on his jacket, ignoring the blonde guy’s threats that he’ll ruin him in this town.

Whatever the hell that means.

* * *

“Get away from me!” he hears someone snap. Jesus Murphy Christ Almighty, he needs peace and quiet—not loud bullshit. If he wanted a headache, he may as well have just stayed in the city to drink his life away.

Yeah, don't remind him that he doesn't exactly have the funds to do so. Fuck this tattoo, man. It's sick as hell, and he's wanted it for awhile, but Jesus, how'd he justify drunkenly blowing all of his money on it?

He wonders if it's already time to go home. Maybe this was all a mistake.

But he can't go back; he knows it.

“Just hand over those earrings, maiden.”

“Maiden?”

_Maiden?_

Aw, fucking hell, man. Not this guy again.

“Fine, whore. Whatever. Just give me your shit and I’ll be off.” And from where he’s standing, Gray can see that silver-haired motherfucker in the distance; the one who grabbed Claire that night. His fingers are tightly wound around the wrist of a girl.

And it’s like déjà vu. Despite it being ages ago, he can still hear Claire's strangled voice pleading with him: _"Let go of me! STOP!”_

Gray's feet have a mind of their own right now. He can't walk a straight line for the life of him; he just depends on the cracked cobblestone that's embedded into the ground as a clear pathway. He's not thinking straight, but his mind is concentrated on one thing, if that makes any sense at all.

Both of their backs are to him; they don't see him coming.

“No! Get your dirty hands off of me!"

“Give me, the goddamn—”

And the thief isn’t able to finish because Gray’s already caught up to the scuffle, his fist soaring across the guy’s mouth. He stumbles back, clutching his split lip, mouth hanging open in pain and horror.

Gray notes his missing incisor instantly—the one that he was responsible for knocking out.

“Y-you,” the guy sputters, spitting out blood. He rubs at his face, groaning, looking down at the blood like he’s both very afraid and very tired of getting his shit rocked once again. “Son of a bitch!”

The girl backs away and gasps, her gloved hands flying over her mouth as Gray punches the fucker again. He almost winces as the not-yet-healed skin breaks and cracks over his knuckles again, but he merely shakes them out, his rage consuming him. When the thief is hunched over in pain like this, he seizes the opportunity to knee him in the stomach, decking him with his sneakers as he kicks into the guy's gut. This shithead, this thief who clearly never learned to keep his goddamn hands to himself, groans, as Gray lifts him by his collar to drag him up.

"P-Please," he begs. "I'm sorry, I just—"

“I thought I told you not to fucking touch anyone,” Gray snaps through grit teeth. The guy… Skye? Star Prince?? Jesus Christ, he groans, and because Claire’s not here to say shit, Gray hooks him again across his cheek once, then twice, before throwing him back onto the ground with such force, he actually starts crying.

And Gray stops, realizing that he's out of breath, with each puff of air coming out like a cold, small cloud before him. He straightens his back out, lifts his chin up defiantly, and carries on, like this is his new normal. His blood-stained hands are jammed into his pockets as though he’s just finished his round in the fight club, feet unsteady, but managing like he always does along the path. He doesn't know where he's going—but he's going all the same.

“Umm… can you wait a sec?!”

The girl is calling after him, running in his direction. She’s got on an expensive looking leather fur-trimmed coat, huddling into it further as she catches up to him. The lamplight beside them illuminates her face, and although drunk, Gray can tell that she’s actually pretty cute.

“You like, saved my ass back there, and then you just walk away?”

“Sorry,” he mutters. The girl has light brown hair, chopped jaggedly in a bob cut by her chin. Wispy bangs frame her forehead, and an expensive gold headband sits atop her scalp. Her face is slender and thin, eyes a warm chestnut. She can't be much older than him, if at all.

“I usually don’t thank people,” she says coyly. “But I wanted to thank you!”

The thief groans on the floor down the road from them as they both turn to face him. He struggles to crawl his way toward the nearest lamppost, attempting to use it so that he can try and hoist himself up. He collapses in pain though, dropping to the floor and whimpering further. 

“Oh,” Gray mutters, like he didn’t just go apeshit. Sheepishly, he avoids her eyes, removing his hand from his pocket to rub his arm. He tries not to focus at the redness over his knuckles. “Yeah, uh, don’t sweat it.”

The girl looks down at her white mittens, then back up at him skittishly.

Actually, she’s pretty.

Very pretty.

“I haven’t seen you around here before," she tells him. Her voice is breathy and playful, bordering on sexy. Just hearing it makes his face grow hot.

“Guess I’m new,” Gray mutters, not realizing that she’s taken a step closer to him. High school him would have mirrored the action, but this version of himself feels the need to take an inch back right now.

“Mhm,” the girl says, smiling up at him. “I’d have totes noticed you.”

He swallows back a lump in his throat, because how’s he supposed to respond to this? Sure, he’s got alcohol in the system to give himself some liquid courage but… er, this feels different. He's completely out of practice.

“Are you okay?” Gray finds himself asking, ‘cause words aren’t exactly coming easy to him right now.

“Better now that I had you to save me,” she whispers, her cheeks taut and pink. “That was really something.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm.” She smiles. “I’m Lumina.”

“Oh,” he says again, feeling dumbstruck and tongue-tied all at once. “My name’s Gray.”

“Where are you from?”

“Chicago,” he says, and that’s all. It’s not like he’s lying.

He isn't going to bother mentioning Mineral Town anymore—why should he? That was just a place where he was forced to live for awhile, nothing more to it.

He's not fucking going back there.

She looks at him expectantly, and it’s been long, too long since he’s talked to a girl, been with a girl like this. It was different with Claire; it came easy. Easy to talk with, easy to laugh with… not to deal with, but to be with her, it was always easy.

Nothing about it is "easy" anymore.

_Except the fact that I called her that._

He cringes at the very memory.

Lumina's looking at him like she’s waiting for him to inquire about her life. He feels his ears get red, and he’d blame it on the cold, but he knows it’s not that.

“Uh, where’re you from?”

She bats her eyes flirtatiously. “Guess.”

 _Ugh, fuck._ “Dunno.”

“You have to guess!!” she exclaims, pouting cutely.

"You gotta gimme a hint first," he says.

Lumina offers him a cheeky smile. "Think sunny beaches."

Jesus, he's got a headache. He tries to work through the potential answers in his hazy, drunken mind.

“… Florida?”

"Uh, _no!"_

"Cali?"

“Ah-huh.” She nods like she’s surprised. “L.A. to be exact. Well, like Orange County.”

“… The fuck’re you doing here out east?” he asks, no filter as usual.

She flashes a grin, revealing straight, pearly teeth. “That’s a secret.”

Gray looks away when he catches her staring at him for a long time, doing his best not to shiver into his jacket. It's still goddamn freezing outside.

A puff of her cold breath mixes with his own when she takes another step closer to him. Her eyes search his innocently. “You doing anything tonight? I mean, if you wanna come by my place.”

Okay, well, looks like he found somewhere to sleep for the night.

“You’re serious?” he asks, because his first reaction is that he's being Punk'd or something right now.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She shrugs nonchalantly. "I'm not done thanking you, obviously."

Gray swallows, his mind in a trance. Jesus, is the girl forward or what?

“Where?” he asks quietly, his mind swimming.

Lumina points down a sparkling, snowy fountain, past a thicket of trees. He cocks his head, frowning at the large mansion before them as she confirms it with a nod. “Right there.”

* * *

“Right there!” Her head is thrown back, mouth opened wide enough to let out a groan. “Oh, my God, ohmyfuckingGod, _right_ there.”

He’s slamming himself into this girl that he met not even two hours ago, having had stumbled into her room with their mouths glued on each other, her hands already working so well at the buckle of his jeans. She tugged the denim material down as she lowered herself onto her knees, and he just shut his eyes, letting her take him in; letting it all happen.

It’s damn past 3:00 AM and they’re still going at it.

“Don’t stop,” Lumina cries. “Don’t you dare stop—shit!”

“Fuck,” Gray manages out, his cock thrusting into of her with such determination and desire that he didn’t even know he possessed. It all feels so fucking good, he can't even begin to describe it. Supporting himself with his hands squeezing over her breasts, she tightens up and he groans, his grip stiffening further. He hopes that this girl doesn't bruise easily, because he’s being so goddamn rough right now and he fucking knows it, but she keeps begging for it harder and harder, so why the hell _wouldn't_ he comply?

And even though he's hardly thinking straight, even though her moans are a little too exaggerated, a little too loud _(like, does she live with other people? Jesus),_ he wipes his mind clean of all this, focusing on the good. Her hot skin against his, her desperate cries, her damn wetness, Christ. It all feels so good, too good to even fathom. All of it, all of it—

_All of it._

She hooks her arms around his neck as his tongue finds hers again, and this is the moment that he realizes just how alone he’s been. Because it’s been too, too long since he's felt this incredible, this close to someone. The way her legs hook around his back, the way she somehow pulls him in deeper, the way she tenses up, moans out his name; it all just makes him go even harder, and then she’s grinding against him at his speed and _holy shit._

“What do you want?” Gray mutters against her mouth, and she seals it with a kiss again, sucking his tongue against her own, squeezing him tightly in every possible way. He has to friggin' pace himself but it’s been almost a year and this is good, this is so good for him right now. He doesn’t care what'll happen tomorrow because there's only now, and it's fucking fantastic—indescribable. “Fucking tell me.”

“Keep doing that—oh, God,” she moans. “Shit, right there—ohmyGod, I'm gonna come—”

And she does, her fingers working at her clit as she cries out desperately, but he shoves her hand away and slows down his pace to do it for her. Her nails dig into him as she moans out again, her body writhing back against her silk pillowcases. She's a reddened sight to behold against the soft, pale sheets to her bed.

But Gray's not done; his strokes get faster now, more deliberate and out of rhythm as he pounds into her. He moves his hands over her nipples, squeezing them, before gripping the tops of her shoulders, fucking her hard as she begs for his release. The things that she says and the things that she does circle his mind over and over until he comes too, swearing and burying his face against her neck until he's completely empty, the feeling so amazing, it's almost unbelievable.

And he’s asked himself before, _what’s emptier than empty?_

It’s him—he’s the answer to his own question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😬
> 
> Yikes, not sure how this one's gonna go over 😅 Also, these two were the hardest chapters to write throughout my entire fic, like?? UGh. I'm so sorry to keep you guys waiting, honestly although school and work and life have been kicking my ass lately, I just kept hating how this one was flowing. Like, immensely?? I wasn't happy enough to publish them, I mean I'm still not totes happy with it tbh, but ye. Lmk what ya'll think; looks like we're taking a step in the DS Cute universe 👯 Okay alsoo before anyone asks, I don't have a problem with the state of Delaware, Florida, or Oregon 😂 I just poke fun at them so plz don't get offended I promise it's not that deep 😅 Uhhh, idk what else I wanna add haha this one's a bit rough innit 😬😬😬😬 That's my face rn as I'm posting this YIKES THE SEX SCENE NO ONE ASKED FOR (I'm just trying to get better at writing them ehehe). Not my anxiety taking over my brain atm 😬
> 
> I wanted to thank krose13 here on Ao3 for helping me and listening to my ideas when I was hella doubtful regarding these chapters, she gave me such great insight and seriously she's such a hilarious and amazing person, I'm just v thankful like you got no idea 🥲💕 Also she has an ✨amazing✨ Harvest Moon fic too called Barriers, it's Graire and I'm obv completely and totally just obsessed :-) --> [link](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27546235/chapters/67371319)
> 
> Also, I wanted to shout out the insanely talented Sunnfish on Tumblr bc they made some fanart for my fic two weeks ago and :') It's so well done and amazing adshsafja they drew the scenes perfectly like I'm so beyond grateful, check out their art and ahh, just thank you sm again 🧡🤧 --> [link](https://sunnfish.tumblr.com/post/642775157041184768/not-to-be-weird-or-something-but-umm-heres-a)
> 
> Wow once again I write too much like can I shut up idk :// Here's my Tumblr for you to follow if you want --> [practicado.tumblr.com](https://practicado.tumblr.com) And that's it! Hopefully no one's mad at these chapters lmao IT'LL GET WORSE BEFORE IT GETS BETTER. Thank you for reading 💙🥳
> 
> PS: Can you tell I can't stand Rock lolz. But okay real talk.... ain't nothing wrong with ordering a "girly" cocktail aha Gray's acc just a hater 🤷


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